Time Has Brought My Heart to You
by LittlePoppett
Summary: Set months after the Christmas Special. Sybil and Branson travel back to Downton as a married couple for the first time and realise how much their lives have changed. I haven't written in a while so please be kind but let me know what you think! LPx
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

She had fallen asleep on the train, her head resting on his shoulder. He'd pulled the blanket over her shoulders after her breathing changed and her limbs grew heavy, showing him she'd given into the fatigue that had been gripping her all day. Her hands, delicate and soft – definitely a lady's hands, lay in her lap; her right gripping the blanket, her left hand, the hand bearing her thin gold wedding band rested on the round protrusion of her stomach.

The weather was unusually unpleasant for August, as the darkness began to surround the train the temperature had dropped and rain began to pound the carriages, drumming against the glass of the windows and making them rattle. The weather and Sybil's increasing tiredness was making him wonder if this trip was a good idea after all. But tensions were bubbling in Dublin, reacting to the riots in Belfast - he wanted to get them out of danger. A trip back to Downton had to happen eventually anyway, and with the baby so near Sybil was craving the company of her mother and sisters.

Lady Grantham's letters seemed to have softened since December, when Sybil announced the news – that she, that they were expecting a baby. The thought of a grandchild seemed to have quashed any remaining quibbles Cora had had with her youngest daughter and her choice of husband. Even the Dowager-Countess had written to Sybil congratulating her on the news. The lack of contact from Lord Grantham however had been something of a dark cloud on the horizon, Sybil hadn't said much about it – but he knew the lack of contact from her father had had a greater effect on her than she let on.

Sybil shifted in her sleep, a curl of hair fell in front of her face – he brushed it back behind her ear, brushing her soft cheek with his hand. She looked beautiful, truly serene and relaxed for the first time in weeks. The strain of the pregnancy had begun to take its toll, the lack of contact from her parents hadn't helped and she was constantly worrying about his safety. Being a political journalist, voicing his views as publicly as he did in a situation as tumultuous as Ireland's was dangerous. She needed to go home for a while, to the open spaces and fresh air, to a few familiar faces and customs. He couldn't bear the thought of her having the baby alone, but for a midwife she barely knew. They would stay for as long as she needed; Tom had worked at double his usual output for the last month or so – selling pieces here and there to earn enough to keep the rent paid while they were away. His job at the paper was secure as long as he kept writing some opinion pieces through correspondence – they wouldn't require him to be in Dublin, at the forefront.

The baby had come as something of a surprise; both of them knew it could happen but somehow it had not crossed their minds that it would be so soon after they were married. He had been surprised at Sybil's reaction; she seemed genuinely devastated at first and it took him a while to realize that she was just beginning to enjoy her freedom – life on her own terms. She saw a baby as something else to trap her, another bind just as she was getting a taste of the life she wanted as a woman with a voice who went out and worked, doing something significant with her day. It had taken a while but eventually his excitement at the prospect of being a father had had an effect on her. Her sickness had worn off and Cora continued to write about her excitement at becoming a grandmother; he had longed for the day she would be as excited as him, and toward the end of March it came.

_ He came home to the sound of Sybil singing; her voice resonated from the kitchen through the bottom floor of the house. It was a beautiful thing to come home to. It reminded him of how lucky he was to have her as his own at long last, they were man and wife – no one was going to come and take her away from him. She sounded happy, for the first time in weeks. He moved slowly toward the kitchen door, trying not to disturb her. She was dancing from one side of the kitchen to the other, filling the kettle at the tap and moving to the stove, placing the kettle over the heat. She seemed so energetic and full of life, the last few weeks she had been so tired as if the baby was draining all of the energy out of her. The sight of his wife looking so young and carefree once more brought a smile to his face and a chuckle he could not stifle. She heard him and span round to find the source of the noise. _

_ Sybil walked over to him, arms outstretched, "I'm sorry." He drew her into an embrace, her cheek on his chest and kissed the top of her head, taking in the sweet smell of her hair. "I'm sorry…for how I have been acting for the last few weeks." Her arms were round his waist, holding him closer to her. "It all just came as a bit of a shock and so soon…"_

_ "You've no need to apologise, sweetheart. None at all."_

_ "I do. You were so excited – so happy. And all I could focus on was what was going to have to change, so soon, just when I'd got what I wanted." Tom went to interrupt her, to say he understood, but she shook her head and continued what she had been saying. "But last night, I was watching you sleep and thinking just how lucky I was to have you, at last, all to myself. And I realized, that soon I'm going to have another piece of you, all of our own. Both me and you together in this little person," she took his hand in hers and placed it over her stomach, "And I felt like the luckiest girl in all of the world. A perfect mix of you and me, that no one can ever take away from us." She smiled up at him, looking directly into his eyes, perfectly mirroring the smile on his face. _

_ He put his arms around her waist and lifted her up, spinning her round in the air. They kissed and wrapped her arms round his shoulders,both giddy in their shared happiness. _


	2. Chapter 2

_I was at a bit of a loose end writing this chapter, wasn't quite sure where I wanted it to go! I have a few more chapters partially written, I just need to patch them together – so there should be some more up in the next few days. Hope you all enjoy it and please let me know what you think, I love reading opinions in reviews! LP x_

Chapter 2

Drawing into the station Sybil felt butterflies in her stomach – how was she this nervous about going home? To the place she had spent the first 21 years of her life. It was as if she were heading there now for the first time – a completely different person. She hadn't seen Mary and Edith since the wedding and everyone else in the days after Lavinia's funeral when she and Tom left for Ireland for the first time. She'd been unmarried and far less worldly and, most obviously, thinner. Oh how she longed to have a waist back, for the constant ache in her lower back to be gone and for her feet to be dainty and slim again. How different she had been back then.

She drew her coat around her, holding it loosely over below her bust - suddenly feeling very conscious of the size of her stomach. Tom squeezed her hand, looked her in the eyes and smiled. He was telling her, without words, that it would all be ok – she shouldn't worry.

They were met from the platform by a man she'd never seen before, a southerner called Michael Jones, obviously Tom's replacement. He talked about his wife most of the way to Downton, presumably the presence of Mrs Jones was a comfort to Lord Grantham – he wasn't to face a second daughter running off and marrying a chauffeur. Tom sat in the back of the car, looking uncomfortable as a passenger and wincing every time Jones missed the timing of releasing the clutch. The hours he had spent nurturing that car, only for someone else to come and ruin it.

When they turned the first corner from the village that allowed you to see Downton, profiled against the red sky that the evening had brought, Sybil couldn't help but gasp slightly. Having been away for months it suddenly seemed far more impressive than it ever had when she lived there.

"You ready?" Tom asked, taking his hand in hers as the front door came into view, Cora waiting on the steps – Mary and Edith either side of her, Carson and Anna waiting near by.

Sybil took a deep breath, "As I'll ever be. You?"

"I've got you by my side, I'm ready for anything." She kissed him on the cheek as the car slowed.

Tom helped her out of her seat as Carson opened the door to the car and held out his hand for hers. "Lady Sybil." She pulled her coat around her again and took Carson's hand, stepping out of the car toward her mother and sisters.

"Hello Carson. How are you?" She smiled at the familiar face, the man who was as much of a father to her as her own Papa.

"Very well thank you, my lady. Yourself?" To Carson Lady Sybil looked tired, but there was an aura about her, a glow, which made her happiness obvious. He had not agreed with her decision, but seeing her look as content as she did, he couldn't help but wonder if maybe she had known what was best.

"A little tired but glad to be back on solid ground, I've had enough of boats and trains and cars for life!"

Cora made her way over to her daughter's side, embracing her before drawing back, both of Sybil's hands in hers taking in every inch of the young woman that stood before her. "Oh Sybil, dear, you look beautiful."

"Mama, I'm so glad to see you. So so glad." She drew her mother back into a hug, "Thank you for having us back, both of us." She turned back to the car, to see Tom helping Carson unload their cases from the back of the car.

He moved over to them, his hand outstretched to shake Cora's, to greet her as his mother-in-law for the first time. "Hello Lady Grantham."

"Welcome back Tom, and I think you can call me Cora now." She lent forward and kissed his cheek, welcoming him to the place that, she had to remember, had been his home too. "I hope you found Jones a good replacement for yourself."

"I can't quite yet get used to being the one driven about, I'm not sure I ever will!" With that the little trio made their way toward the crowd near the front door. Tom looked around at the faces awaiting them; Lord Grantham's was a marked absence. It pained him that he was not here to welcome Sybil home; she was his daughter and had done nothing to harm anyone. He would have excused a lack of acknowledgement of his own presence, but of Sybil – that hardly seemed fair.

Sybil greeted each of her sisters and Anna in turn, each with equal enthusiasm and delight. They all declared how wonderful she looked and that pregnancy clearly suited her. And how right they were, in Tom's eyes she had never looked so beautiful as she did now. A smile on her face, her skin radiant, hands proudly cradling the bump of their child – she seemed proud of it for the first time now, as if the approval from her family had been the last bit of encouragement she needed to accept it.

"You must be exhausted Sybil," Cora said after everyone had exchanged their hellos, "We'll have your things taken up to your room. You can freshen up and change into something more comfortable then I think Mrs Patmore has prepared a light supper for us all, nothing formal, just something to welcome you back."

It wasn't until they had made their way into the reception room of the house that Sybil noticed who was missing from their welcome party. A lump came to her throat, the feeling of reject heavy in her heart again. "Where is Papa?"

Cora looked uneasily across to Mary and Edith, "Your father had an important meeting to attend in London today and he should be back tomorrow, business permitting." Her deceit was given away by the look of guilt on her face; she never had been a good liar. "He sends you his love, my dear, all his love."

Robert's absence was due to a need to be in London, but there was no meeting. The day after receiving a letter from Sybil confirming the date she should arrive back in Downton, Robert had suddenly announced that he was required to attend a dinner held by some peer in London at the end of August.

_Before he had even said the date Cora knew exactly when it would be, "You can't avoid talking to them forever Robert – you can't hide in London indefinitely." _

"_I'm doing no such thing Cora – this dinner is unavoidable, it will likely be a tiresome evening but I cannot turn down this invitation. I will stay in the house in London that evening and return on the train the following day." He was frustrated that his wife had so easily seen through his story. She knew him far too well by now for him to get away with such a transparent piece of fiction. _

_Cora placed the book she had been reading down on the eiderdown, her eyes searching for Robert's. He couldn't make eye contact with her; he was studying the stitching on his dressing gown. "I know that you are still finding it hard to accept, Robert, but she did do everything right - in the end. She didn't run off and elope in the night; she sought your permission – which you gave, if I remember rightly. It's about time you start showing her that you meant it." Robert looked up, meeting his wife's gaze. "No matter how many childish stunts you pull – avoiding her, avoiding them – they're still married and that baby, our Grandchild, is still on its way. You wouldn't dare let that baby enter the world with anything less than the warmest welcome from it's family – it has done nothing wrong." _

"_I'm not avoiding her Cora, and I'm not blaming the child for any of it. But I don't know if I can watch the rest of you welcoming them back as if there is nothing untoward." He turned to the door; "I'll sleep in my dressing room tonight. Sleep well, I will see you in the morning."_

_As the door slammed behind him Cora could not help but worry that if he kept up behaviour like this he would soon have no choice in ever seeing Sybil or their first grandchild again. It was exasperating to her that he could still not accept something his daughter had done that, despite not being what anyone had planned for her, made her so happy. _

Cora led them through the house, up the stairs and along the corridors Sybil must have tread a thousand times before. It felt like a former life now though. The house seemed too big, she'd become used to their home in Dublin. A pretty little end terrace, with a bit of garden at the front and a beautiful pane of glass in the front door. They had made it their own and Sybil took great pride in keeping it looking perfect – something she had never encountered at Downton.

"We've made up your old room for you both, Sybil. It's just as you left it. I expect Thomas will be up with your luggage soon. Settle in, you've got an hour or so before dinner." Cora turned to leave then, but doubled back on herself and placed a kiss on her youngest daughter's cheek. "It's so lovely to have you home Sybil, so lovely." With that she left them alone, closing the door quietly behind her.

It was then than Tom realized this was the first time he had ever set foot in Sybil's bedroom at Downton. It was full of memories for her, of a childhood spent as the daughter of an Earl, running around hiding from nasty governesses and imagining the lavish wedding she would have some day, to some hero with a title and a house as grand as this. He still had moments where he hoped he hadn't been a disappointment to her. That their wedding, as beautiful as it was, wasn't a sacrifice for her. That their home, though small, was enough for her. That he, without any medals or a peerage, was what she wanted.

"What are you thinking about?" She approached him, cupping his face in her hands, placing a kiss on the end of his nose.

"Nothing really…" She gave him a knowing look, she could see through his attempts to reassure her. "I just…" He paused, wondering if he should carry on. "This is still what you want isn't it? I'm still what you want, our life together, is still what you want. When you could have all of this." He looked at the room around him, at all of the grand furniture and exquisite wallpaper.

"You are what I want and I always will. You make me happier than I ever imagined I could be," she kissed him, pulling him close to her, "I could not have dreamed for a better life than the one I have with you. You matter so much more to me than any of this ever did."

A smile spread across his face then, he had longed for so many years to hear words like that from her. He had dreamed about moments like this, back when she was still the untouchable Lady Sybil and he the chauffeur. He pulled her close to him, feeling the solid mass of the baby between them, and wondered if there would ever be a moment he felt happier than this.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

They were interrupted by a knock on the door and Thomas' voice announcing he had their luggage, Tom left Sybil's side and went to open the door – taking one of the cases from Thomas and putting it on the floor at the end of the bed. The look Thomas gave Branson, despite his help, showed that nothing had changed and if anything his feelings of resentment toward the former chauffeur had grown.

Anna followed Thomas into the room, smiling warmly at Branson – clearly her own feelings toward him had not been altered by his relationship with Sybil. "I'm here to help you unpack," she said, turning to Sybil and motioning to the cases, as Thomas laid the final case at the bottom of the bed, "And to help you with anything else you need. To change out of the clothes you traveled in perhaps?" Both Sybil and Anna looked at Tom, clearly wanting time to catch up with each other – so much had happened in the months since their marriage, they both had a lot to tell.

"I get it, I'm not wanted here anymore. I'll get out of your hair for a while." He helped Sybil remove her coat, then kissed her on the forehead, squeezing her hand, "I'll be back up to change just before dinner. I'll see you both later." He followed Thomas out of the room, keeping his distance from the footman – he sensed now was not the time to do anything to disgrace himself.

"Oh Anna," Sybil embraced the woman she had known since her childhood. How they had both changed in the last few years. "I have missed you all. How are you?"

"Well – I'm much better than I have been. We heard last week that John – Mr Bates – his appeal was successful, he was found innocent. They released him on Monday." A relieved smile broke across Anna's face and Sybil threw herself toward her again.

"Oh Anna, I'm so happy for you – both of you!" Sybil drew back, taking in the genuine happiness that Anna exuded, "Mama has been keeping me up to date with everything that has been going on in her letters, but I hadn't heard is appeal had been so successful."

"Yes, you cannot imagine how happy I still am. They found a note you see, that the late Mrs Bates had written – a suicide note I suppose. She'd hidden it, I suspect intending to point suspicions as John for a while, but the house wasn't searched properly. It wasn't until the house was to be sold they found it. The key to proving his innocence." Sybil sat on the side of the bed and motioned that Anna should join her. "So much has happened around here since you left."

"You'll have to get me up to date before dinner this evening, I don't want to be completely out of the loop with all that has changed." Sybil's hand suddenly went to her stomach and her face screwed up in discomfort.

"Milady?" Sybil saw the concern in Anna's face and smiled, shaking her head.

"Nothing to worry about Anna. Just a particularly vicious kick in the ribs. The poor baby is running out of room." Sybil's face relaxed again, her hand resting almost unconsciously on her stomach. "Feels like there is a little snake squirming around in there."

"I think you are the thing that has changed the most, Lady Sybil." Anna nodded her head towards Sybil's stomach. "Would you mind if I-" Anna held out her hand toward the bump of the baby.

"Of course not. You'll be able to feel it." Sybil took Anna's hand and placed it over the place she could feel the baby kicking.

A smile instantly lit up Anna's face. "That's amazing Sybil. So amazing."

"I don't know that I could ever get used to it." Sybil paused for a moment, her face happy in thought, she shook her head, drawn back to reality by the sight of the cases at her feet "I've no idea how I'm going to make myself presentable for tonight, there's no chance of me fitting in any of my dresses."

"We'll find something, don't worry. We'll just have to get a little inventive than we used to be." Anna lifted one of the cases onto the bed and opened it, carefully removing the paper each item was wrapped in. "Something with a high waist perhaps, that drops from under the bust. If you've got nothing like it I know Edith does, I'm sure she'll be more than willing to lend you it for the evening."

Tom made his way down the stairs into the kitchens and servants dining hall. He rather hoped the more familiar surroundings of the servant's quarters would make him feel more comfortable, but the sight of O'Brien sat at the table stitching put an end to his hopes. If his greeting from Thomas was anything to go by this wasn't going to go well. He took a deep breath and walked through the door, like a lamb to the slaughter.

"Well, would you look who it is." O'Brien had taken one look up at Tom, raised her eyebrows and put her attention back on her needlework. "I heard you'd arrived and that you'd made yourself quite cosy in Lady Sybil's room. Don't you go thinking we're going to be falling over ourselves to attend to your every need, like you're the lord of the manor."

"I would never expect such a thing from you O'Brien – even if I was the lord of the manor, don't you worry." O'Brien had not grown any warmer or personable in the months they had been away.

"Don't you be cheeky with me. Not after what you've done."

"After what I've done?"

O'Brien's answer was interrupted by the arrival of Daisy, a large bowl of peas in her hands. She knew she'd interrupted something and stood still her eyes like a rabbit's in headlights flitting between O'Brien and Tom. Mrs Patmore could be heard following Daisy into the corridor, shouting about something or other she'd forgotten. She appeared at Daisy's side, he words dropping to nothing when she sensed the tension in the room.

"Branson, my…what a surprise it is to have you down here."

"It's lovely to see you Mrs Patmore, Daisy. Thought I'd come and see what was going on down here – Sybil wanted some time with Anna. I took it as my cue to leave."

"And I was just telling Mr Branson that he shouldn't be expecting to be treated like he is suddenly better than all of us, just because he ran off with Lady Sybil." O'Brien sneered, still not looking up from her sewing.

"We did not run off together." Tom turned in frustration to O'Brien, his fists clenched at his side.

"You certainly didn't do things the conventional way and you were hardly what Lord and Lady Grantham had in mind. I'm sure they had an idea that she'd be in a country house somewhere, organizing parties and popping out heirs to a peerage." Thomas sidled his way into the room, coming to O'Brien's aide like some kind of sharp-mouthed bodyguard. "Instead she's living in some Dublin slum married to a man who knocks her up and sends her out to work because he can't support her alone."

"I think you've said enough for today Thomas, that was uncalled for." Carson's voice boomed across the room, preventing Tom's attempts at retaliation.

"I was just welcoming Branson back Mr Carson." Thomas picked a tea tray off the table and turned to leave the room. "Can't let him think we aren't happy to see him, now can we."

O'Brien followed Thomas out of the room, the dress she had just finished mending draped over her arm. The room was left in silence, those in it still reeling slightly from Thomas' words.

"Thank you Mr Carson. I fear I would have embarrassed myself had you not stepped in."

"Thomas needs putting in his place once in a while. But don't go thinking this means I approve Mr Branson."

"Well I think it was like something from a novel - very romantic." Daisy had stopped shelling peas, distracted by the scene that had just unfolded in front of her.

"Some would say foolish…" Mrs Patmore slapped at Daisy's arm, bring her back to the task in hand. "Did you want us Mr Carson?"

"Only to tell you I won't be sounding the dressing gong tonight, Lady Grantham has asked that we make tonight more of a relaxed affair. I was looking for Mr Bates really, but would you be kind enough to tell him when gets back from the village? I have to go over the wine ledger before they eat, you know where to find me."

Half an hour later Tom returned to the opulence of upstairs, an old dinner suit over his arm and freshly polished shoes in his hand. Bates had anticipated that he was unlikely to have the correct attire for the occasion and had cobbled together a dinner suit to fit him from Lord Grantham's cast offs. Tom didn't dare think how much these clothes must have cost – an amount Lord Grantham would likely think trivial but to Tom, a small fortune. He knocked quietly on the door to Sybil's room – hearing voices on the other side, which then called to him to come in.

"Only me." Tom entered the room, finding Mary on the other side of the door a bundle of dresses in her hand.

"Oh! Excuse me Branson." Tom stood aside, letting Mary through. "We've had quite the battle finding something for Sybil to wear that Granny would deem suitable – even for this informal dinner Mama keeps on about."

Tom stifled a laugh, "Changed a little since she last had to fit into those dresses, I suppose." Mary smiled at him and disappeared down the hallway, back to her own room. Tom found the room seemingly empty but for Anna, who was waiting on one side of a dressing screen – a look of waning patience about her. She looked questioningly at the pile of clothes in Tom's hands.

"Your Mr Bates found me a few old things, if I'm to attempt to blend in a little I ought to look the part tonight I suppose." He lay the things down on the bed and placed the shoes on the floor. "Glad to hear the court came to their senses, delivered the verdict we all knew was true."

"I cannot imagine the novelty of having him back will ever wear thin." Anna picked up a clothes brush from the side, and motioned for Tom to bring the suit jacket to her. "He could have brushed the dust off it…"

"I insisted on doing it for myself and I still do Anna. Thank you though. Pass the brush here – I'm not sure I could get used to someone doing everything for me. Bates even offered to come and help me get dressed earlier, I mean no disrespect but I turned his offer down. I can think of few things which would turn more awkward – I've dressed myself all these years, what has changed now?"

Anna opened her mouth to speak but was interrupted by a noise of frustration from behind the dressing screen. "It's no good Anna, just give up – I'm a useless cause." Sybil emerged from behind the screen, wearing a dress Tom didn't recognize as one of her own – her hair was elaborately pinned at the back of her head and a long string of beads hung around her neck. She looked so groomed and put together, he'd forgotten how nice it was to see her like this – he'd go as far as to say it took his breath away.

"Oh Sybil." She mistook his tone of awe for one of mockery; she felt ridiculous in these clothes, now so foreign to her, with her shape so changed. Her face crumpled in frustration, he could see she was close to tears and she slumped onto the stool at her dressing table. "Hey, hey, don't be silly – what is it? What's wrong? You look so beautiful." He knelt in front of her, pulling her hands away from her face. "You look beautiful, sweetheart, beautiful."

Anna felt the colour come to her cheeks; she felt she was witnessing a personal moment that should be between Sybil and Tom alone, for no one else to see. She placed the clothes brush next to the suit on the bed and crept out of the room, closing the door noiselessly behind her.

Tears were streaming down Sybil's face, a sight that still broke his heart. "I feel so stupid, none of these stupid clothes look right anymore." Tom used his thumb to wipe away her tears and tucked a piece of stray hair behind her ear. "I never used to care about something as stupid as dressing up for dinner, it's what I wanted out of my life. And now look at me – it's like Downton has got to me, the instant I step back through the door."

"It's no crime to want to look your best and to dress up from time to time." Tom met Sybil's eye and broke into a smile, "And you really do look so beautiful." She shook her head, "Well I think you do. Lets have a look at you properly." He pulled her to her feet and over to the mirror, standing behind her so he could see their reflection.

"I look gargantuan." She pulled at the skirt of her dress, trying to get it to sit the way she wanted. "Nothing will sit properly – this dress of Ethel's looks like something Granny would wear."

"Don't let your sister or grandmother hear you say that. They'll make you sorry." Sybil laughed, knowing that he was right – neither of them would really like to be compared to the other. "That's better, a smile on your face."

"I don't look ridiculous?"

"Not at all, you look like a lady."

"I'm not sure I've ever been told that before."

He nodded, turning toward the suit on the bed. "Now how do we go about making me look like a man who deserves a lady like you on his arm?"

_There was so much more I wanted to write in this chapter, but it just didn't seem right when I put it together and it all got a bit to long and began to ramble – like the story was going no where. I originally parts of a scene where Bates met Branson again and found him a suit but there seemed too much toing and froing in the kitchen and I couldn't seem to get the dialogue right. Maybe I'll add it later, but for now I hope you enjoy it. Please review if you enjoy it, feedback is lovely to hear! LP x_


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

Sybil had thought she would be most nervous waiting to see her father for the first time since returning to Downton, but she was paralysed with fear about seeing the Dowager Countess. She was still sat at the chair to her dressing table when Anna came up, telling her Lady Grantham had arrived. She'd been sat staring into nothingness for fifteen minutes, trying to predict how this meeting would go.

"Sybil?" Anna sounded concerned, approaching her slowly, looking for any signs of anything wrong, "Are you ok? You haven't moved since I left."

Sybil was shaken out of her thoughts, "I'm sorry Anna. I was just thinking…wondering – what on earth am I going to say to Granny?" She turned to face Anna, whose face instantly changed from a state of worry to relief.

"She'll be fine. She's been looking forward to you coming back, I think things have been a little bland around here without you." Anna came up behind Sybil and adjusted some of the pins holding up her hair. "She's probably hoping you'll have some gruesome stories to tell her about something or another. I think that day she is your friend, not foe."

"That is a relief – it may pay to have her on my side when Papa gets home." Sybil stood, smoothing down her skirt and walking in front of the mirror, "I'm sorry about earlier, Anna. I'm just so weepy lately. I think I'm mourning my former figure."

"You look beautiful Lady Sybil, don't worry about that."

"Is everyone waiting downstairs?"

"No, just the Dowager Countess as far as I can tell. Everyone else is still getting ready."

Sybil took a deep breath and followed Anna down to the library, where her grandmother was waiting. The door was open, Sybil paused outside it and Anna, sensing her hesitation gave her a nudge into the room.

"Granny." Sybil found her grandmother sat on the edge of a sofa, her stick clasped in one hand, the other picking at the vase of flowers on the table next to her. There was a pile of discarded flowers on the floor under the table.

"Oh finally, I thought I'd been forgotten. I took it upon myself to sort out the atrocity. The day your mother figures out how to 'do' flowers is the day I am no longer needed on this earth." Violet Crawley removed the final offensive flower, and threw it to the floor with the others before turning her attention to her granddaughter.

"Sybil dear," she presented her cheek, which Sybil duly bent over to kiss. "Lets have a look at you." She looked Sybil up and down, scrutinizing every inch of her. "My, your mother wasn't joking when she said you looked well. Shame about the dress though if I'm honest. That pattern does nothing for you."

"It's one of Edith's." Sybil smoothed down the silk of the skirt as if trying to transform the dress into something her Grandmother would find more acceptable.

"Well that explains it, poor girl – she wasn't blessed with an eye for style." She tapped the seat next to her, "Now sit down here and tell me all about Dublin. I want to hear any gossip you know about anyone – I haven't heard a good scandal in a while."

It was nice to know, Sybil thought, that some things would never change. Granny would always be Granny.

Dinner was going surprisingly smoothly, the main topic of conversation was the news Cora had received from her mother of the ratification of the nineteenth amendment in the United States, which would give women the vote. Mathew and Mary had set a date for the wedding, it was to be in early October – they had originally been waiting for the summer, for a July wedding but saw no sense in waiting any longer.

Sybil and Tom had agreed that she would stay for that long at least, with the possibility that he go back to Ireland for a week or so in mid-September to tie up any loose ends which may appear in his absence. He'd sell anything he wrote in the weeks in between then too, and check the house was still as it should be.

"Speaking of you writing while you are here, Branson. I've had a desk put in the pink bedroom just down the hall from Sybil's bedroom. It's only small, but the windows have some of the prettiest views from the house." Cora paused to take a sip of her wine. "I thought you might like somewhere comfortable and inspiring to write."

"Thank you, very much for your kindness. It sounds perfect. I'll set my things up in there after dinner if you don't mind." Tom set down his knife and fork as he continued to speak. "I often wake in the night or early in the morning and nothing will get me back to sleep, I like to get work done then. It seems a waste to just lie there counting sheep."

"You're very welcome, do whatever you like, there's a few good bookshelves in there as well – feel free to use them. The bed in there is made up too, should the baby's time come in the night – no point in you missing out on sleep."

Tom looked across at Sybil then turned back to his mother in law, nodding his head in thanks, "I suspect if that is the way it happens Cora, I'll be wide awake and unable to rest. But thank you for thinking of me."

Sybil looked across to her mother and smiled as she caught her eye. It meant a lot to her that Cora was trying so hard to make Tom feel welcome, clearly attempting to compensate for Lord Grantham's absence. Even Granny seemed to be making a special effort, questioning Tom about his writing – although how much of that was out of genuine interest as opposed to more gossip mongering, Sybil wasn't sure.

Sybil felt the baby move again, as if to remind her that he or she was still there, readying itself for it's arrival. She smiled her hand moving to her stomach, lost in her thoughts of the little being inside her.

Cora saw the glow around her youngest daughter and watched the smile of absolute contentment flash across her face. For the first time she had no doubt in her mind that Sybil had made the right decision, she had known herself far better than her parents. Perhaps she really was living the life she was always meant to lead – a life that gave her happiness and a purpose. What more could a mother want for her child?

That night, as Tom and Sybil announced they were retiring to bed and said their goodnights Cora called Tom back to her, telling Sybil to go on – she wouldn't keep him long.

"Thank you, Branson for bringing her back to us for a little while. I realize this puts you in something of an awkward position – but thank you for putting her before your pride." She took his hand, her eyes revealing that what she was saying was genuine – he was, in her eyes at least, forgiven. "You have no idea what it means to me to have her back at such an important time. And if anything is going to bring Robert round, it will be that baby and seeing just how happy you make our little girl. I apologise for his childish absence this evening – it's not fair on anyone. He just seems to need a little more time than the rest of us."

_A shorter chapter today to bridge the gap between chapter 3 and chapter 5, which is currently waiting to be finished. Less Tom and Sybil in it than the last few unfortunately. Chapter 5 should be up on the next few days. I'm really enjoying writing this (partly because it's exam time and this is a welcome thing to do to keep my brain ticking over when I'm not revising!) and love hearing your comments on the new chapters. Hope everyone enjoys it! LP x_


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

The next day arrived hot and sticky – even getting out of bed that morning felt like wading through treacle. The air, which had been cooled by yesterday's storms, was humid again. Sybil woke to the bed sheet twisted around her legs and Tom gone. She assumed he had woken early and decided to finish the piece he had been in the middle of when they left Dublin. Her legs were growing restless, they'd been still for too long while she slept and needed a walk round the house to feel normal again. She pulled her bed jacket on over her nightdress and crept across to the window, throwing open the curtains to reveal the dawn sky, stripes of red glowing in it like rows of rubies.

"Red sky in the morning, shepherds warning." she muttered under her breath. Another day of storms was on its way then – at least they would provide some respite from the heavy air.

She made her way out of the room and down the corridor, he bare feet sinking into the heavy rugs covering the floors – she remembered that feeling from being little, the last time she had walked around this house barefoot she was probably only five or so, being followed by the German governess wielding slippers and telling her she could never be transformed into a lady.

The house was completely silent but for the faint sound of Daisy's footsteps as she ran around upstairs, banging on doors to wake the servants. Soon the house would be bustling with activity as the day began – there was something nice about witnessing the calm before the storm.

"Tom?" Sybil threw open the door to the room Cora had assigned as Tom's study, expecting to find her husband sat at the desk. Instead she found her father, stood at the window looking at the view, like a king staring out at his kingdom.

"No, it's not Branson, I do hope that doesn't make me a disappointment." Lord Grantham turned slowly to face his daughter; he was holding one of Tom's notebooks open in his hands.

"Papa." Sybil was slightly stunned and the sudden appearance of her father left her slightly tongue-tied.

"His stuff is good. Very good." He dropped the notebook back down onto the pile of paper on the desk, "I never knew he had such talent in him."

"When did you get back?" Sybil pulled the bed jacket around her, suddenly feeling incredibly self-conscious.

"About half an hour ago," Lord Grantham turned away again, back to the window. Sybil's actions had only highlighted what she was trying to hide and he suddenly felt slightly embarrassed. It was one thing knowing she was pregnant, but seeing it for himself confirmed that all of this was real. "I got the earliest train I could and walked up from the station. Seemed a shame to waste a morning like this. I don't think anyone knows I'm here, I wasn't expecting anyone to be up yet."

"So you came in here…"

He cut her off before she could say 'to snoop around'. "I'm doing nothing dishonest Sybil, I came in here to lie down – I knew the bed was made but I didn't realize this was the room your mother was setting up as a study, if I had I wouldn't have come in. I'm not spying Sybil, before you accuse me of that."

"I'm sorry Papa." Sybil moved further into the room, unsure whether to approach Lord Grantham. She didn't remember ever feeling this awkward in his company. "I shouldn't have said that. How was London? The meeting?"

He turned to look at her again but couldn't meet her eye. "Oh tiresome, as was to be expected. How was your journey back?"

"The boat was a little rough, I'm not sure I will ever develop sea legs." She sat on the edge of the bed, her curls loose around her shoulders and to Robert she looked, just for a moment, like his little girl all over again. "It was a long day, I was glad when the end of it came and I could climb into bed."

"And Dublin? From the letters you've written to your mother it sounds like you have settled in well, that you've found a nice house?" He paused a little, finding the next thing a little hard to digest. "A job?"

"Yes. The house is lovely, on the end of a smart little row of houses, so we get the benefit of a little more garden. And the rooms are light and airy, just big enough. It's beautiful Papa, really. I do wish you would come over and see it." She was unsure if she should have gone that far, Robert's expression was slightly pained – he'd been hoping she wouldn't say anything about his absence from her life in the last few months, not so soon after their reunion anyway. "And I was nursing at one of the hospitals, I love it Papa. I felt like I had a purpose again, my days were full and I was tired at the end of them because of hard work. It was wonderful, but I had to give that up in spring, because of the baby – there was no way of hiding it by then." She had brought up the elephant in the room. An awkward silence descended on the room, neither Sybil nor Robert quite knowing what to say to one another.

"Papa." Sybil rose from her seat on the bed, "Thank you for letting us come and stay." She approached her father, slowly. "I have missed you and Mama and Edith and Mary, even Granny!"

"But you haven't missed Downton I take it?"

"Of course I have, in some respects. But I'm so happy in Dublin Papa – with Tom in a home we have created ourselves, it feels like it was where I was always meant to be." She stood next to him, looking out on the sunrise across the fields. "I'm sorry if hearing that upsets you, but it is the truth. Downton still has a special place in my heart and it always will. Tom doesn't need to have a big house and a title to make me happy. He just has to love me and take care of me and allow me to express my own opinions. I wish you would take the time to see that."

"I will Sybil, I'm sure I will with time. Don't go thinking I don't have any faith in the fact that he would look after you – I would never have given my permission if I didn't believe that was the case." He held out his hand, squeezing Sybil's gently when her hand slipped into his. "It's hard to believe that my little girl is now all grown up."

They were interrupted by a knock at the door, they both turned to see Tom standing in the doorway, surveying the scene in front of him. He looked from Robert to Sybil as if trying to gauge the atmosphere of the room "Lord Grantham – it's nice to see you again." Tom had to restrain himself from adding Sir onto the end of his sentence. He was still struggling with the protocol of what he should call people, now being part of the family and no longer the chauffeur. He felt like he was in some sort of middle-ground - having known each of the Crawley's Lord or Lady, Sir or Madame, he was slightly uncomfortable at the prospect of referring to each of them in a more familial way.

"Branson," The same seemed to be true in reverse, having known him for so long simply as Branson it seemed bizarre to begin to refer to his as Tom, as perhaps they should. Robert walked toward his son-in-law, holding out his hand for him to shake. "Welcome back to Downton. I'm glad to see you both looking so well."

"You too, Sir." Branson shook Robert's hand, looking the older man in the eye. He felt slightly resentful of Robert for the pain he had caused Sybil in recent months – making her feel estranged from her own family. But he had made a promise to Sybil long ago -before she had even agreed to marry him - that he would be civil with her family once they began to come round. He had to keep his promise, regardless of how he really felt. "How was London?"

"Busy and a little too hot for my liking. It's nice to be back, the air is a little clearer up here." Robert moved round his son-in-law, heading back toward the door, "I'll get out from under your feet if you've work to do. I should go and let Cora know I am here."

With that he left the room, leaving a feeling like he could not have left soon enough. "Mama won't be up for hours yet." Sybil approached Tom. "I'm sorry Tom, I'm sorry on his behalf. Thank you for being so civil with him."

"He'll come round Sybil, in his own time." He slipped his arm around his wife's waist and placed a kiss on her lips, "Good morning sweetheart."

The sound of the summer thunderstorm outside could not be escaped; the humidity had been building all day and just as they climbed into bed a clap of thunder marked the beginning of a storm, which would hopefully bring a cooling relief. They lay in bed, counting the seconds between the lightening that lit up the room and the thunder that followed. Sybil was on her back, propped up with pillows reading a novel and Tom was laid on his side facing her, one hand on her stomach, feeling the baby's movements through her nightdress.

"It must be all the noise, she's barely stopped moving tonight." Tom ran his hand over the top section of her bump, where the baby's limbs meant there was the most movement, feeling a kick directly in his palm as he did so.

"She?" Sybil looked down at him over the top of her book, eyebrows slightly raised. "You're still convinced it's a girl?"

"More than ever." The baby kicked directly at his hand again. "It's like she knows I'm here."

Sybil put down her book and placed her hand over Tom's. "It's your voice, there's always so much kicking and wriggling when you are around." Tom had been adamant the baby was a girl; almost from the moment the pregnancy began to show.

_ Sybil woke up that Saturday morning sprawled slightly on her side; her nightdress had rucked up in the night revealing the beginnings of the bump formed by the baby. Tom's hand was resting firmly on her stomach, his eyes on her face watching her as she woke up. _

_ "I had a dream last night, about the baby." He had a twinkle in his eye and the smile on his face was infectious – even in her half awake state she couldn't help but mirror it. "It's a little girl, Sybil. I'm convinced. I dreamt about a little girl with dark curls and bright blue eyes, she had little dimples when she smiled and she laughed just like you do." He pulled the blankets back over Sybil, it was early April and while the days had begun to get warmer the mornings were still cold without a fire. He pulled Sybil toward him letting her head rest on his chest as she drifted back to sleep. "She was your spitting image Sybil, no mistaking it. She's going to be beautiful." _

Ever since that dream he had referred to the baby as a she. "But what is it is a boy? And all this time we'd have been calling him a she."

"Trust me," Tom pushed himself up so his face was level with Sybil's and kissed her. "It's a little girl. And she's going to look just like you – I'll barely get a look in."

"So says your magical intuition."

"So says my magical intuition." He lay down again, his head on the pillow and sheet pulled up to his chest – preparing to sleep. "It's been right before."

"Oh?"

"The night after I first met you, I dreamt I was going to marry you."

_This ought to have been two separate chapters really, but I felt the second part alone was a bit short! This is meant to be the same day, just either end of it – so I thought it would still make sense if both bits went up together. I hope people are still enjoying it! Thank you ever so much to all the people who have left reviews and placed this on alert so far, it is lovely to know people are wanting to keep reading it! LP x_

_P.S. reposted this because my computer had missed a line out in the middle! That'll teach me for not having a final read through!  
><em>


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

The last days of August were passing painfully slowly; Sybil was growing increasingly uncomfortable with the heat and the weight of the baby. She'd developed a particular liking for plums and would sit in an armchair for hours at a time, making her way through the books in the library and eating plum after plum.

The days were becoming monotonous again, merging into one another. She was beginning to long for something to happen, for something different to do to break up the days of waiting for the baby. The planning of Mary and Matthew's upcoming wedding provided a distraction and Sybil threw herself whole heartedly into helping to pick out flowers and decorations and offering her opinion at Mary's dress fittings.

Mary was stood in front of her mother and sisters, having just emerged from the dressing room next to her bedroom, the seamstress adjusting the length of her sleeves. The dress was finally beginning to come together. Sybil thought it really was stunning, ivory silk with a lace overlay that formed a high neck and long sleeves. She couldn't believe how beautiful Mary looked in it, every inch the happy bride she deserved to be, suddenly seeming much younger and care free. Love suited her and the prospect of spending the rest of her days that way seemed to give her a new lease for life.

The scandal regarding Mary and Mr Pamook had broken in early February, Carlisle having published it in his own newspaper as well as selling it to many others around the world. Cora had written to Sybil warning her and barely a week later there was mention of it in the Dublin papers. Mary had ridden the storm of the gossip that followed with her head held high and the support of Matthew. It had been forgotten within the month, much to Carlisle's seeming annoyance – he had attempted to revive it by republishing details in the weeks that followed. Eventually though even he had grown bored of trying to humiliate his former fiancée and Matthew and Mary had been left in relative peace.

The seamstress adjusted the length of the dress, shortening the train a little to make it more practical to move in and added a ribbon around the waist. It was very nearly perfect.

"You look beautiful, darling." Cora cooed at her daughter taking in the full effect of Mary's wedding outfit as the veil was placed on her head.

Mary visibly blushed, "Thank you Mama." She smoothed the strip of duck-egg blue ribbon at her waist and traced the intricate pattern of the lace with her index finger of her left hand, her engagement ring shone in the light – glistening with colour from its very centre. "I feel like a bride – I cannot believe it is finally happening."

"From the moment each of your were born I imagined what you would look like on your wedding days." Cora paused, lost in her memories. "They seem to have come too soon!"

The seamstress announced her satisfaction with the length and that if Mary was happy all adjustments were made, ready to be sewn. Edith helped her eldest sister through the dressing room door, holding the train so the delicate fabric did not catch on the floor, leaving Cora and her youngest daughter alone in Mary's bedroom.

Sybil was sat on Mary's bed, absentmindedly twisting her own wedding band round her finger; Cora moved over to her youngest daughter and sat next to her, taking her hand and pulling Sybil out of her thoughts. "I do regret that I wasn't there for your day Sybil, every day since I have thought I should have come – even without your father." She reached up and tucked an escaped curl of hair behind Sybil's ear, lifting her daughter's chin so their eyes met. "Your sisters tell me it was a beautiful day – I only wish I could have there to see you in your wedding dress. Your father's stubbornness meant we missed out too – on seeing our littlest girl on her special day. It is not just you that has suffered from his opinions my darling. Even he is beginning to see that now. I'm so sorry for the way he has treated you, I didn't know he had such selfishness in him."

"You've no need to apologise for him Mama…" Cora held up her hand, cutting Sybil off before she could protest.

"He doesn't deserve your excuses. You should know that I hope not to miss a minute of this little one's life." Cora placed a hand on her daughter's stomach," I'm so happy for you Sybil, for both of you." The baby kicked fiercely and Cora smiled as she felt it, "Just think – a baby in the house again. There was a time I wondered if this would ever happen again."

Life at Downton continued much as usual and both Tom and Sybil settled into something of a routine. She would spend the days with her sisters or mother, or in her chair in the library while he wrote in his make shift study. They would go for a walk for an hour or so before they needed to dress before dinner – this being something that had been recommended to Sybil, now full term and utterly fed up with being pregnant, to bring the baby on sooner. They would dress for dinner and sit and eat, the atmosphere in the dining room still not entirely comfortable. Lord Grantham's dinner conversation was still somewhat limited in Tom and Sybil's presence. They would then sit for a while in the drawing room with the others before retiring to bed. He could see why Sybil had been so anxious to find something purposeful to do with her time, the monotony of the daily routine had begun to grind slightly once the novelty had worn off.

Tom had managed to coerce the chauffeur into letting him work on the car, fixing the clutch he had been itching to take a look at since the day they arrived. Mathew had asked to be given some driving lessons – the days of being chauffeured everywhere were numbered and Tom had been such a success teaching Edith. They were to go to France on their honeymoon and Matthew had got the idea in his head that he wanted to drive. It was much more practical and romantic than having a chauffeur as the third wheel. Mathew still had some problems with his legs, to be expected after such trauma to his spine, meaning his reaction time on the brake was not what it should be and there had been a feel close calls with trees and fence posts. This had done nothing to ease Tom's feelings toward being the passenger in a car, as opposed to the one in control – but it did add something a little different to the days.

Cora had a garden party planned, the last of the summer, a kind of pre-cursor to the wedding, for those who would be unable to make the day itself. Though a welcome break from the routine it had been looming over Tom like some kind of threatening beast. He could not even begin to imagine the number of ways he could disgrace himself in the eyes of the Crawleys at such an event. Sybil had given him a basic run through of dining etiquette before they left Dublin, which wine glass to drink from with each course at dinner and when to use one fork over another. But her lessons hadn't quite stretched as far as conduct at a garden party.

. He felt nervous as they wandered out onto the lawn, guests scattered around a marquee under which tables were set from lunch. Sybil was on his arm, leaning slightly on him for support – he felt stronger with her presence but still felt a little like a gladiator walking into an arena full of lions.

The day had been a great success in everyone's eyes. Mary and Matthew had been presented like the king and queen at court and both Cora and Isobel had been the epitome of the proud mother. Tom had found him self surrounded by peers he recognized as once being his passengers. The Dowager-Countess of all people seemed to have taken it upon herself to introduce him as Sybil's husband, hoping to get them to associate him with that title before they remembered him driving them around as the chauffeur.

"Sir Anthony Strallan" Violet presented Tom to the man he already knew as having been a fancy man of Lady Edith. Violet shot Tom a look, clearly hoping Anthony Strallan wasn't going to recognize him without his chauffeur's uniform. "This is Tom Branson, Sybil's husband."

"Ah! Mr Branson! So you are the mysterious husband. I was rather wondering when we were going to meet you at one of these things." Strallan held out his hand to shake Tom's, greeting him with a warm smile.

"Nice to meet you Sir Strallan." Tom felt slightly awkward, something of a fraud – especially as Violet seemed to have fabricated and spread stories about him among the guests. That he was a relative of privileged Cork family by the name of Branson, he and Sybil had met when she was training in York and had been writing to one another in the intervening years.

"You've been living in Dublin I hear?" Strallan asked Tom, passing him a glass of champagne from the tray proffered by Thomas. "What do you make of the rumblings we've been hearing about?"

A look shot by Violet told Tom that this was not the time to hit Strallan with the full force of his political views. He felt like something of a traitor to the cause, but the threat of an outburst from Violet overshadowed it. "I actually write for a paper in Dublin, so try to keep my own views neutral."

"You're a journalist, how interesting!"

Robert approached his mother, asking to excuse her from her conversation with Strallan and Tom. They struck up a conversation that, despite having to be on his best behaviour, Tom was interested in and felt came surprisingly easily. He was shocked by how much he liked Strallan.

"All this I've been hearing about Branson's noble connections…" Robert walked with his mother across the lawn, her arm linked in his. "It wouldn't have anything to do with you would it?" They made their way to a bench sheltered from the sunlight by a group of trees.

"It might do." She adjusted her skirt as they sat down, resting her cane on the armrest of the bench. "We couldn't exactly introduce him to everyone as the chauffeur, could we."

"There is no need to be introducing him to everyone at all. I wish you would stop – its embarrassing, people are going to recognize him. I don't know why you and Cora insisted he come down."

"Robert!" Violet gave her son a look that didn't attempt to hide her feeling of shock at his words. "I wish you would snap out of this and realize that it is much too late for all of this nonsense. Mr Branson is your son-in-law whether you like it or not, and the father of your first grandchild. He's certainly not ashamed of where he comes from and why should he be? They've done nothing wrong, Robert, you cannot hide him away like something to be ashamed of."

"What and making up stories about his background is so much better?"

"They're only little white lies Robert. No harm to anybody – they'll just make this a pill that is a little easier to swallow."

"He's not from a family that even faintly resembles the fictional one you have been giving him."

"And that makes him such a disappointment in your eyes that you want to hide him away? Now Robert, I'd be the first to back you up that he isn't quite the man of money and title that you had in mind for Sybil – but please that he makes her happy and that she loves him. Perhaps she is living the life she wants, Robert, strange as it seems. How can you deny her that?"

"He's taken her away from all of us, to some city, to some house we know nothing of."

"Is that what this is about? That he's taken one of your chicks far away from the nest?"

"It hasn't helped matters. It's hard to understand how she could just leave with him, out of her own choice." Robert turned to look at Sybil, stood over by the marquee talking to Tom and Strallan, her face truly animated as she spoke.

"Would it really be any different if she had married an Earl from some far flung end of the country? She would still be gone from Downton Robert and without that smile on her face." Violet stared at her son as he began to protest – her glare silencing him. "How can you be so blind Robert? You've cut off your nose to spite your face." She squeezed her son's hand, seeing the pain in his face. "Your rage, the anger at them both – it cannot have any effect but to drive them away. He makes her happy Robert, surely that is the most important thing, anyone can see that from just looking at her."

"I suppose you are right, Mama. As you so often are."

That night when they retired to bed Sybil was exhausted, the heat and activity of the day had worn her out. She felt sluggish and changing into her nightclothes seemed like much more of an effort than usual. He stomach felt heavy and a dull ache was lingering in her back. It would become more intense every so often and would take her breath away, she would have to pause and wait for it to pass.

"Sybil?" Tom approached her as she attempted to undo her shoes. She was sat on the side of the bed, the bulk of the baby meaning she struggled to reach her feet.

"I'm fine, I'm fine." She felt like she was on the brink of tears, so frustrated was she at the situation. She threw down her hands and slapped the patch of bed next to her. Tears began to stream down her face. "I can't do anything properly anymore!" Tom tried to soothe her, kneeling down to take off her shoes before sitting next to her, taking her hand in his. She rested her head on his shoulder, relaxing into him. "I'm just so tired. I've no energy to do anything useful."

"It's been a long day, you need to sleep and rest your back and feet." He helped Sybil lie down, positioning the pillows behind her, supporting her back and sat at the end of the bed, her feet in his lap. He pushed his thumbs into the arches of her feet, relieving the ache that had been troubling her all day. Sybil lay on the bed and cradled her stomach in her hands. Her hair was coming loose of its pins and curls were forming around her face. "And how can you say you aren't doing anything useful. You're doing the most important job of all." He reached and took one of her hands in his then placed a kiss on her stomach. He felt her hand run through his hair and looked up to see a smile had formed on her face. "I cannot wait to meet her Sybil, to see who she looks like, who she acts and thinks like. To meet the little girl I dreamt about."

Sybil fell asleep with her head on Tom's chest, their hands entwined and the cool night air from the open window gently blowing over them both, soothing them both into the first comfortable night's sleep in weeks.

He stirred to the sound of Sybil whimpering beside him; opening his eyes he saw her face screwed up in pain, her hand in a fist clutching at her the bed sheets and her fringe sodden with sweat, stuck to her forehead.

"Sybil? Oh God, Sybil?" His hand went to his wife's face, she shrugged him away as his breathing grew heavier as the pain mounted. He understood her action – wanting to concentrate getting through it. He moved his hand instead to hers; she released her grip on the sheet and grasped his hand instead. He stayed silent, watching her face as the pain began to subside and the grip on his hand loosened. "How long?" he said as she finally relaxed, he pushed her hair away from her face.

"I'm not sure." Her voice was rasping, her mouth dry. He reached for the jug of water set on the bedside table and poured some into a glass before helping Sybil to take a sip. "An hour or two maybe." He found it hard to hide his shock; he'd been expecting that her pains had only just started. "I know, I should have woken you earlier. I just knew that as soon as anyone knew you'd be whisked away – I don't want to be alone yet. I –" Another pain starting cut off her sentence, obviously stronger this time as she could not control the moan of pain that escaped her mouth.

"It's ok, it going to be ok." He rubbed her back, trying to soothe her pain and soothe his own worry. "Keep going; it will be over soon."

"It hurts…Tom, it hurts." Her eyes flew open, brimming with tears that began to snake down her cheeks. "I can't do this. I can't." He pulled her towards him, holding her to his chest – his hand on her stomach. He could feel the muscles in her stomach tensing as the pain reached its peak; he kissed the top of her head.

"You can, Sybil. You can." He felt tears come to his own eyes. The wave of pain eventually passed and he felt Sybil relax again. He knew this would be the last moment like this, in bed in each other's arms where it was just the two of them. He was simultaneously excited for the adventure ahead and in mourning for the life they were leaving behind, as newly weds, just the two of them. He lay holding her close for a while and then kissed her, softly on the lips. "I should go and get someone."

She nodded, a single tear remaining on her cheek. "Anna, fetch Anna first. She will cause less of a stir waking Mama."

"I'll be back as quickly as I can." He slipped out of the bed, giving Sybil a final kiss before pulling on a jacket over his pyjamas.

He ran through the house and across the grass outside, his bare feet becoming damp and scratched, toward the cottage in the grounds Lord Grantham had given to Anna and Mr Bates to live in once they were married. He banged on the front door, painted a pillarbox red until his hands were raw. After what seemed like an age he saw a flickering light through the glass panel in the door.

It was John Bates who came to the door, a candle in hand. "Mr Branson?"

Tom was out of breath, desperately trying to catch it before he spoke. "Mr Bates, is Anna awake?"

"Yes, she woke up when I did."

"I'm sorry Mr Bates, but…"

A voice called down from the top of the stairs, "John? Who is it?" Anna came to the door in her nightdress and dressing gown, a lit candle in her hand, her eyes still hazy with sleep. As soon as she identified the person at the door, and read the look on Tom's face she visibly woke up.

"Tom? Is everything ok?"

"It's Sybil." He need say nothing more; Anna immediately pulled on a pair of house slippers, kissed Mr Bates goodbye and followed Tom as he turned back to the house. "She only woke me up about 20 minutes ago, but she says she's been having pains for the last couple of hours."

"We'll need to ring the doctor. It might be easier to fetch him at this time. Once we get back to the house we'll call for Jones to collect him."

"I'll drive. There's no use in waking Jones and his wife at this time of night." Anna paused to look at him as they re-entered the house, as if to check he looked in a state to drive.

"You're right. It'll be quicker too." They arrived back at the bedroom to find Sybil out of bed, stood leaning on the end of the footboard – her face was screwed up in pain, her breathing laboured. Anna immediately rushed to her, pressing at the base of Sybil's back with her hand. "It's ok Sybil, it's all going to be ok. Just keep breathing. Is that better? Does that ease it slightly?" Sybil nodded, unable to speak, gripping the bed – her knuckles white. Anna beckoned Tom toward them, taking his hand and placing it at the point on Sybil's back that she had been pressing. "Keep the pressure there during the pains, I'll go and wake Lady Grantham – she asked that she be told as soon as anything happened. You stay with her for now – but as soon as anyone else arrives you'll have to disappear and get the doctor."

"Thank you Anna." Tom took his eyes off Sybil only long enough to see Anna out of the bedroom door; he studied his wife carefully – watching her posture change as the pain eased. Her shoulders relaxed down and her grip on the bed loosened. She turned and rested her head on Tom's chest as she caught her breath; she felt his arms draw around her pulling her close. He whispered in her ear, "It won't be long now. Think of the little one we imagined last night, from my dream. I'll be right outside that door Sybil, for as long as you are in here."

"I'm not strong enough, Tom. Not strong enough to do this."

"You were strong enough to leave behind everything you knew, you're the strongest and most determined person I know." She looked up at him, her eyes wide with a combination of fear and doubt – Tom placed a kiss on the end of her nose, so tenderly and carefully she felt tears well in her eyes again. They both heard the sound of footsteps along the corridor outside, knowing their time together – just the two of them, was coming to an end. "I love you, Sybil."

As soon as Cora and Anna entered the room Tom was told to dress and fetch the doctor. He placed a final kiss on his wife's forehead before being ushered out of the room. He looked back as the door closed, meeting Sybil's eyes. The next time he saw her she would be changed in so many ways and most of all she would be a mother.

_Sorry for such a delay between chapters – a combination of exams and writers block. But I finally managed to piece this chapter together and my exams are done! More chapters are in the works, so I will update again soon. _

_I'm not that good at the intricacies of childbirth through the ages so I'm not sure if the doctor would have been called at this stage in history or if there would have been a local midwife. Thought as we already had Dr Clarkson I'd just send for him! _

_I really appreciate all of the lovely reviews and alerts and favourites I have received despite silence on my end! Thank you all so much, I feel so spurred on to keep going! LPx _


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter 7 

It was torture having to wait outside that room, but he couldn't tear himself away. If he couldn't be in there with her, he would be as close as possible – awaiting news. He had listened to her getting weaker as the hours went on; what had been moans of pain four hours ago had eventually become helpless whimpers. Tom Branson found himself, almost subconsciously, praying. He viewed himself as a lapsed Catholic at best, but a childhood of attending Mass multiple times a week had had a greater effect on him than he realized. He was praying to a god he hadn't been at all loyal to over the years, but one he was hoping still had a little good to give.

He prayed for Sybil – that she would be spared any more of this pain. He prayed for the baby, that his son or daughter be healthy and happy and welcomed into the world as a Crawley and not just the result of a 'disappointing marriage.' He did not care for his own acceptance as much as he hoped for the baby's, he could deal with the disapproval from the Robert but he would not be able to bear it if the baby, through no fault of its own, was not accepted by him.

He was sat on the floor, next to the door to the bedroom, his knees were pulled up in front of him and his elbows rested on them. His collar was undone; his shirt buttons had been fastened hastily in his rush to fetch the doctor and a few had not made their way securely into the buttonholes. His jacket and waistcoat lay on the floor next to him, discarded as soon as he had led Dr Clarkson to the right room and taken up his position outside. It was dawn and the early morning light was flooding through the window at the end of the corridor, basking the floor in light.

Violet Crawley, never one to miss any drama, had risen at her earliest in years after being informed by her maid that the doctor had been called to Downton in the middle of the night. The house was so preoccupied that her entrance had not been noticed by anyone but her son, who remained in his library, away from the sounds of Sybil's labour. Violet made her way up the stairs to Sybil's room, still unsure if her presence would be welcomed in the room already full of women. She stopped abruptly when she saw Tom, silhouetted against the morning light, sat outside the room. She didn't want to disturb his thoughts and she paused, watching him for a while; his head was bowed slightly, his eyes shut and his fingers moved as if feeling the beads of an imaginary rosary. This was not a moment she wished to interrupt and for the first time in living memory the dowager countess backed away from the excitement, recognizing a moment that should be shared between a chosen few. As she turned to leave, Tom looked up to see her standing there. She caught his eye and nodded her approval at him; she got a smile in return. A wordless exchange that said so much more than any words could.

She joined her son in the library, sitting down without saying a word – barely even acknowledging the look of confusion on Robert's face at her swift return. "I thought this was my time to sit out the drama, she's got enough people flitting around her for now." Robert went back to his newspaper, still slightly suspicions of his mother's out of character behaviour. "He's waiting outside you know, completely devoted to her even when he can't be with her." She shot her son one of her knowing glares. "He reminds me of you Robert."

_ The banns were read almost as soon as they arrived in Dublin with the wedding planned for early September. Sybil had spent the intervening two months staying with Mr and Mrs Branson, Tom sleeping at his brother's two streets away. Sybil had been received warmly by his father, Mr Branson had spent enough time working in England during his youth to recognize the English as something other than the enemy – his republican stance was not as strong as many expected of him, certainly not as strong as his eldest son, Joseph would have liked. It was Mrs Branson who had seemed a little unsure of Sybil at first, she saw a young woman who had no experience with children or running a household, who knew very little about cooking or how to make a joint of meat last most of a week, just pretty clothes and hands which looked better suited to taking tea than scrubbing at clothes. She thought them foolish, their worlds incompatible even in a time less politically volatile as the present. She just could not understand it. _

_ "Tommy," It was a Sunday afternoon and Tom had been roped into peeling vegetables for dinner, he was stood at the sink letting potato peelings drop into the water, Mrs Branson was at the stove stirring the beginnings of a stew. A thought had been at the back of her mind since her son arrived home with his bride-to-be, a thought she couldn't get out of her head – no matter how hard she tried. "Is she…" Mrs Branson turned to her son, slightly embarrassed by the topic she was broaching. "Sybil, is she…" Tom turned to face her, his face screwed up in confusion. Mrs Branson gestured toward the parlour next door, where Mr Branson was teaching Sybil to polish silver. Her voice was low, not wanting them to overhear. "What I mean is, you haven't got her in trouble have you?" She saw Tom's face change to one of shock, she put him off as he began to object. "Is this why everything is so rushed, why you feel so suddenly you needed to run away from her family and marry her?" _

_ Tom couldn't help bit laugh, "Is that really what you think this is about, Ma?" He looked his mother in the eye, his face becoming serious. "You think that I got her pregnant and am now just doing the decent thing? I love her, Ma, more than anything and have done for six years. And in all of that time I have barely touched her." _

_ "So you're not doing this because you think you have to?" Peggy Branson saw the look in her son's eyes – and she believed then that this was not a 'noble deed' but an act of true love. "She's not-"_

_ "No, Ma. There's no baby. We've done this properly. I love her and I cannot imagine spending the rest of my life without her. I want to build a home with her, to see her every day, to care for her when she is sick or sad, to make her happy, to have a family with her – one day. I want to make her my wife, Ma and make her feel everyday, the way she makes me feel."_

_ "Love's young dream. I'm sorry – for doubting you, the two of you. I hope you get everything you wish for." Tom kissed his mother on the cheek and turned back to the sink. _

_ "No harm done Ma. No harm done. You need to give me more credit, I can get a girl as wonderful as Sybil in an honourable way!"_

_ Peggy Branson smiled and looked at the woman sat in her parlour, then at her son's face. How could she have doubts about a girl who made her Tommy, her boy, look so content? For the first time in his life he seemed calm, content with his lot and happy just to 'be' for a while; not racing off to change the world in some way or another. Perhaps they weren't foolish, just in love and brave and willing to do anything for one another. She looked at her own husband then and remembered how it had felt, to be young and in love, like there was no one else in the world but the two of you. That if you couldn't be together, nothing was right. She understood then that she had no right to stand in their way and that doing so would bring nothing but pain to her. _

Another apology is due about the time between updates! Originally this chapter had a lot more to it, but I have separated it into a few more chapters to make it flow a bit better. That does mean that the majority of the next chapter and half of the one after that are written, so hopefully I can get my writing brain in gear and get those on here pretty quickly. I hope you are all enjoying it still and that you have stuck with it through my absence. Thank you for the lovely comments I have received about the last few chapters and those asking me when I'm going to update. I love reading your reviews, feedback is always appreciated good or bad. Enjoy! LPx


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter 8

Hearing Sybil cry out for Tom, the one person she wanted to try and make it better, broke Cora's heart. She was no longer the one Sybil wanted in her moment of need. No longer her baby, her little girl. A kiss and a warm embrace could no longer take away pain. And there was nothing she could do to give Sybil what she wanted; just a few encouraging words from her husband and his hand to hold.

Sybil was lying on the bed, a bed sheet tangled round her legs, nightgown pulled taut over the roundness of her stomach. She had been on her feet through the pains for the first few hours, attempting to alleviate the pain in her back. The labour had moved quickly then, the pains coming faster and faster, it had seemed like she was close to giving birth, that this labour would be short and uncomplicated. But progress halted after a while and Sybil grew too tired to remain out of bed. Labouring on her back was only making the tightenings more unbearable, but she was too tired to stand.

Anna had left the room, gone to eat her own supper then bring a tray up to Lady Grantham. It was quiet, a pain had just passed and Sybil fell silent in the bed. Cora was sat in a chair at the bedside, studying her daughter's face. Sybil's curls were fanned out on the pillow, her skin pale and black lashes brushed her cheeks - Cora was struck for the first time with how alike they were. Sybil had always been something of a daddy's girl; Robert adored her and would leave her wanting for nothing. People had always said how alike they were in both looks and personality. But the woman Cora saw before her was far more like her than she had ever realized.

Sybil was the daughter Cora had thought would change the world – she had always been the one to stand up for what she believed in, she would never follow a path just because she was told that was what she should do. Mary was too keen to please and Edith too caught up in what everyone else was doing to follow her own heart. At times Sybil's attitude had left Robert in dismay; he viewed her actions as thoughtless rebellion. Cora however, had always been secretly proud of her youngest child. She viewed it as a part of her character that should be nurtured. Her disappointment when Sybil announced, at 21 that she was to marry Tom had not stemmed from a dislike of her choice of husband, but more that Cora saw this as the end of Sybil's years of being only herself – she would be a wife, a keeper of a house and with time a mother. All things that could stop her being Sybil. She had so hoped that Sybil would have a life very different to hers, but it had suddenly begun to follow an eerily similar path. It soon became apparent however that her fears were unnecessary. Tom had written to her in the new year, explaining that he too wanted to make sure Sybil continued on her own path, he would never dream of restricting her opinions or taking away her freewill and he was going to make an effort to ensure that the baby did not either. The realization that Tom Branson had the same hopes and dreams for her daughter made Cora far happier and made her warm to her son-in-law in a way she had once doubted was possible.

"I'm so scared Mama." Sybil's voice seemed to come out of nowhere, Cora had thought she was asleep – her eyes were shut and her limbs heavy with fatigue.

"It will be over soon, darling. I promise it will." Cora pressed a cold cloth to her daughter's brow, stroking stray curls from her face. "And when your little one is here, when you see their face for the first time, this will all be forgotten."

"I'm scared of what happens then." Sybil's eyes opened slowly, piercing blue through the low light in the room, "When it's here. How will I know…what if I do something wrong? I don't know the first thing about babies."

"And you think I did my darling?" Cora looked down at her daughter, seeing a fear in her eyes that she remembered only too well. "I felt exactly the same when Mary was born; I could barely look after myself and I was suddenly expected to be responsible for another life? But you're not the same as I was Sybil, you know far more of the world than I did. You've cared for people, nursed them back to health when it seemed there was no hope. The moment that your baby is in your arms, you will know what to do. And you've people around you who have done it before, who know what it is like – no one expects you to know everything right away, not me, not Tom, especially not the baby. They are robust little things and we will all be here to help, even your father – he knows more than he lets on about babies. And if anything is going to bring him to his senses it is seeing this little ones face." Took Sybil's hand and squeezed it, "You are going to be an amazing mother. I have no doubt in my mind about that, you just have to believe in yourself as much as the rest of us do."

Lord Grantham appeared round the corner of the corridor, a book in hand and Isis at his heel. He looked surprised to see Tom still sat by the door to Sybil's room; the younger man looked stricken with worry, his head resting in his hands. Tom stiffened as Robert paused in front of him – expecting a disapproving comment on his behavior and instructions to get downstairs and away from the women's business of childbirth. That wasn't however what was to follow. The look of desperation on Tom's face was such that had Robert had any doubts about his love for Sybil, they were gone now. He not only looked desperate, he looked terrified.

"It never gets any easier I'm afraid." The tone in Robert's voice was warm, comforting even. Isis too seemed to have sensed Tom's terror and curled herself round his feet, nudging his hands with her nose. "Not for them and not for the poor husband left outside waiting for news." Robert then did something that seemed extraordinary to Tom; he crouched down in front of his son-in-law, patted the dog twice on her back and passed Tom the book in his hands. "I remember when Mary was born – true to form she was a stubborn mule even as a baby, she took her time coming. Poor Cora was having pains for nearly 2 days in the end. The night she was finally born I was completely petrified, I couldn't move from outside the room. Mother thought it terribly undignified of me, telling me that my Father had gone out on a hunt when Rosamund and I were born and was smoking cigars with his pals the moment there was news of a healthy baby."

A particularly heart wrenching scream came from behind the door; it was fueled by fear and exhaustion as well as pain. Tom winced at the sound, a heavy feeling of sickness settling in his stomach.

"She'll be alright, Branson. Crawley women are tougher than they let on – one of my Mother's few good attributes inherited by all three of them. And as soon as it is over, when the baby is here, all of this will be forgotten – by both of you." He patted Tom on the shoulder and rose to his feet. "The book might begin to take your mind off things."

"Thank you." Tom took the book from Robert, still slightly stunned by his father-in-law's sudden change in behaviour.

With that Robert left, leaving both his book and his dog with the man he was beginning to see as his son-in-law, not just the chauffeur. He'd earned a new found respect for Branson, seeing his commitment to Sybil and seeing a little bit of himself in his fear. Deep down though he still could not forgive Branson for taking his little girl so far away. It had been easier for him to feel he had pushed them out and they had gone out of necessity than to realize that she was committed to Tom Branson now and would follow him wherever he went. She was no longer his little girl with him wrapped securely around her little finger; her heart was with Branson now whether Robert liked it or not.

Sybil's nightgown was sodden – the heat and humidity of the late British summer did not make the exertion of labour any easier. She didn't know how much longer she could bear this, although she had thought that several times over the last few hours. And voiced it too, every time she did her mother dabbed at her forehead with a cool towel and encouraged her with a soothing tone to her voice. "Not long now, it won't be long now." she said it over and over, as if trying to convince both Sybil and herself.

Cora had hoped that her daughters would be saved from labours as excruciating and drawn out as the ones she had endured. But it looked as if Sybil, her youngest, her own baby was headed down the same path. Mary and Edith had been at Sybil's bedside all day but as night drew in had retired to their own beds. Anna had offered to stay with Sybil through the night, so Cora could rest but her own memories of being virtually abandoned through the night during Mary's birth had stuck with her and left her unable to leave Sybil's side. Anna was still in the room, she kept changing the water in the bowl on the washstand, bringing ice in every so often to cool it and changing the cloths for clean ones. She kept adding to a pile of towels and blankets in the corner, next to the cradle that would soon hold a new life. The doctor had come and gone a few times now, and was now asleep in a bedroom down the hall.

"Why on earth do people do this more than once? I'm not sure I could bear it." Sybil's voice was quiet, barely above a whisper as if anything more would be drain too much of her energy. Her eyes were flickering shut as she gave in to the tiredness again, she'd be woken by another pain in a few minutes – she needed to take rest wherever she could.

"You'll see Sybil, you'll see in the end." She stroked her daughter's cheek, as she had done to soothe Sybil to sleep through colic as a baby. It seemed hardly a moment ago. Sybil's childhood seemed to have passed in the blink of an eye, Cora had savoured every minute of it but still felt it had all gone too fast. It seemed impossible that it would soon be Sybil's turn to do that herself; to soothe her own child – to shape its world and make it happy. To attend to it's every want and need. And love it. Above all to love the baby with all of her heart, and nurture the love she received in return.

Cora hoped that this baby would be the thing to bring her family back together again – to reunite her husband and youngest daughter, to provide them with a common interest. Robert would never be able to disapprove of a baby, to let it know his disappointment as outwardly as he could Sybil and Branson. He loved children too much, could not resist playing with them and making them laugh, even in their most distressing moments. Robert had not been the stern hands off father that Cora had expected him to be. The girls had always counted down the days until their papa returned when he had been away, his company always made them so happy. He was often the beginning of their mischief when they were younger. At first she had thought he was disappointed that they were not boys, but as time grew on Cora realized that Robert reveled in being the centre of the universe for his three little girls – as much the apple of their eyes as they were his.

Sybil had been a beautiful baby – the prettiest of the three girls. More alert and wide-eyed than Mary and far more smiley than Edith. She had barely cried and would rarely demand attention from anyone but would sit and watch what was going on around her as if taking in every last detail. She had used her observations to gain the upper hand on her sisters, much to Mary and Edith's annoyance. She used what she saw to form her own opinions of the world and how it should operate and developed into the headstrong young woman sure of her own views.

Sybil had given in to sleep again; Cora could not help but see the two-year-old Sybil in her face again. Sybil had been the last baby she had cradled in her arms, her youngest, her baby. Cora's excitement at the impending arrival of her first grandchild was accompanied by a slight sadness that she was inevitably going to be forced give up Sybil as her own little girl.

"_Pregnant?" Sybil had looked at the doctor, her mouth held slightly open in shock. "I don't understand…"_

"_Mrs Branson," She had barely gotten used to answering to her new name, it didn't seem like she was being addressed. "The examination I performed combined with the symptoms you have described lead me to think that you are expecting a baby." _

"_I've only been married a few months…I wasn't expecting…so soon…" Her mind seemed foggy and she couldn't think what to say, her words getting jumbled before reaching her mouth. _

"_You are young, Mrs Branson, a lot of women find themselves expecting not long after they marry." He continued to write in Sybil's notes, barely looking up as he spoke. Sybil was sat on the other side of the desk, her hat clutched in her gloved hands. She was suddenly flushed, her winter clothes feeling far too heavy in the heat of Dr Clarke's office. "I would say you are a little under two months gone; you should attend the midwives clinic at the hospital as soon as you are able. They will be able to give you more information on what you need to do now." He handed her a piece of paper, the details of the midwife she should contact written on it. She took it from him wordlessly and rose from her seat, still looking slightly stunned. The doctor helped her on with her coat and opened the door to let her out into the corridor. "Congratulations Mrs Branson, this is a blessed event – I wish you the best." _

_Sybil felt like she was in a daze as she walked down the corridor of the doctor's offices. A baby? She had thought perhaps it was a stomach virus that had been making her ill, but after a few weeks of unrelenting tiredness and a lack of appetite Tom had insisted she went to see the doctor. This had been the last thing she was expecting to hear. _

_The weather had turned bitter when December arrived, it had snowed every evening for the last week and a biting wind had done little to make being outdoors any more pleasant. Sybil put on her hat and gloves and wrapped her coat around her as she prepared to step outside. It was late afternoon and already it was nearly dark, it would take a while to warm the house once she got back – the stove would barely be warm enough to cook dinner on time unless she hurried. Streetlamps spread a golden light over the white streets, illuminating the people that Sybil passed as she walked along. Everyone was wrapped up against the cold; she barely took any notice of most of them – just people going about their business like it was any other day, as she had been that morning. She passed a young woman who was attempting to push a pram through the snow, being hindered by two older children who hung by her side, pulling on her coat. Her eyes met Sybil's, she looked thoroughly exhausted; she was once very pretty, but there was dullness in her eyes and a sallow look to her skin that took away from her beauty. She looked too thin and old beyond her years. Sybil could not help but think that would be her in a few months, that the baby in her stomach would be born and wear her down until she had no spirit in her eyes and there was not enough weight on her bones. How could this happen? So soon. How was she ever going to tell Tom? _

_She arrived back at the house to find the lamps were already glowing through the windows; she worked her way to the front door and felt the warmth hit her as she passed through the door. Tom was home already; he had lit the stove and the fire in the front room. It smelt like there was something cooking in the kitchen, a stew or soup. _

"_Sybil? Is that you?" Tom's voice came from the back of the house and Sybil heard him put down cutlery on the table. His footsteps grew louder as he came into the hallway, where Sybil was still standing. "Sybil?" His face shot with concern as her saw her expression. "What's wrong? What did the doctor say?" Instantly he thought the worst, he took Sybil by the arm and led her to an armchair in the parlour. She looked at his face as he knelt in front of her and she instantly burst into tears. "Oh God, Sybil. What's happened?" _

"_I didn't think it would happen…" She wiped at her tears with her fingers, suddenly unable to look Tom in the eyes. _

"_What would happen? Are you ill?" He took both of her hands in his; trying to get any information he could from her expression. Tears began to stream down her face again as she forced herself to make eye contact with him again. _

"_It's a baby." She watched the expression on Tom's face change. "That's what's been making me so ill." _

"_A baby?" Tom felt relief wash over him as her pulled Sybil toward him, feeling her tears soak through his shirt. "I thought you were seriously ill, I was thinking the worst. But a baby…" He drew away from his wife, studying her face. "You're upset?"_

"_I feel numb, I-" She squeezed his hand, swallowing the lump in her throat. "I didn't think…" Her words drifted from her, she couldn't seem to put her emotions into words. "Are you?"_

"_How could I be upset? A baby! It's wonderful, a little unexpected, sooner than we thought – I'm a little shocked if anything."_

"_You're not angry?" _

"_You were worried I would be angry? How could I be angry, Sybil? No one has done anything to be angry about. Especially not you. We made a baby together – I could never be angry at that. I love you Sybil and I'm going to do everything I can to look after you and help you through this. I love you, so so much." He kissed her on the forehead and drew her back into his chest, the news that he was soon to become a father still spinning around in his mind. _

Tom felt his eyelids grow heavy and his head droop with fatigue. Isis was asleep next to him and he was absent-mindedly scratching at her belly. He was close to sleep when the door next to him was flung open, it jolted him to consciousness and he jumped to his feet. The sound of Sybil crying out in pain was now so much louder, inescapable – overwhelming even.

Anna was at the door, a bloodied cloth in her hand. "Get the doctor Tom." She looked tired and worried, her forehead creased into lines. "Go and wake him and tell him to get in here quickly, something has changed." Tom was distracted by what he could see over Anna's shoulder; Sybil was on her feet, leaning on the end of the bed again. Her face was pale and screwed up in agony, tears streaming down her cheeks. Her nightgown was stuck to her body and her hair was held back from her face by a strip of cotton. Cora was rubbing her back, encouraging her to keep going, that all this was normal. Her words were deceived by the look on her face; she too was worried. Sybil looked weak, her eyes had the glazed over look of someone on the edge of exhaustion and her legs were barely strong enough to support her, shaking under her weight. She was sick into the washing bowl next to her, coughs wracked her body, sapping the remnants of her energy. Cora smoothed her hair back from her face with a wet cloth before placing it on the back of her neck, in an attempt to cool her down. Tom had never seen anyone so debilitated, he couldn't take his eyes off his wife and suddenly was hit by a wave of terror, before that moment the possibility of Sybil not making it through the birth had not crossed his mind. Cora's eyes met his, wordlessly pleading with him to get help. "Tom, please." Anna's final order was enough and Tom bolted down the corridor, Sybil's exhausted cries still filling his ears, Cora's look of desperation imprinted on his mind.

I promise that baby Branson arrives very soon; I know a few of you are anxious to read that part. I just couldn't resist making it last a little bit longer! Hope everyone is still enjoying it – I am overwhelmed by the number of people still reading this little story of mine! Next chapter will be up soon. LP x


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter 9

It was around two in the morning when it all went quiet. No noise from Sybil and no sound of voices, words of encouragement or instruction from any of the others in the room. Tom was alarmed by the silence, so too was Isis who lifted her head from its resting place on her paws. "Oh God…" he whispered under his breath, "Oh God, no." He instantly feared the worst, his eyes closing once again in prayer. After what seemed to Tom like an eternity there was the unmistakable cry of a newborn baby. He could not fight the huge grin that came to his face.

The rest of the house was silent and the sound of the baby's cries echoed around the corridors – the first cries of a baby these walls had witnessed since Sybil herself was born. Isis was stunned by the sudden noise and rose to her feet suddenly and ran off down the hallway, back to her master.

Anna opened the door quite suddenly; she looked tired, she too had not slept since the middle of the night before, but she looked happy and relieved. "Tom, you're allowed in now."

The doctor emerged from the room; pulling off his white coat. "Everything went very well in the end but it's taken its toll – she'll need plenty of rest now to recover. Congratulations Mr Branson." Clarkson went back down the hallway to his temporary bedroom without another word, it was the middle of the night, it seemed pointless to wake the chauffeur to take him home now and the Branson's needed their time together.

Tom took a slightly unsteady step toward the door, almost as if he were nervous. Anna sensed his hesitation, "It's alright; they're both fine. You've got a beautiful, healthy baby girl."

"A girl?" He looked at Anna, a smile on his face so big his cheeks began to ache. Relief washed over him, the baby was here and both of them were safe. Sybil's pain was over and they had a daughter.

He followed Anna into the room, still slightly unsteady on his feet but feeling as though a ball of energy and emotion had replaced the worry. Sybil was sat up in the bed, surrounded by pillows, a single sheet pulled over her. She looked utterly exhausted; her face was shining with sweat, her hair pulled away from her face in a plait that hung down her back. He'd never seen her look more beautiful in all the time he had known her, the way she was looking down at the bundle in her arms. Pure happiness exuded her every pore. Tom found himself pausing at the door to the room, taking in the scene before him – his wife and daughter.

She looked up, realizing he was watching them and met his gaze. She beckoned him over with her hand, seeing tears in his eyes. "A little girl, Tom. She's absolutely perfect."

Cora got up from the seat next to the bed, beaming with happiness. She leant over Sybil, and kissed her forehead. "Well done Sybil, dear. I'm so proud of you." Cora's emotions were all over her face, she was teary eyed and could not seem to stop smiling. She walked to Tom and placed a hand on his arm. "Congratulations Tom, look after them won't you."

He nodded, tearing his eyes away from Sybil and meeting Cora's gaze, he paused not quite knowing how to put his feelings into words. "I will, I'll do everything to. Thank you, for…for everything."

Cora accepted his thanks with a smile and turned to leave the room. "I'll leave you alone, the three of you. We'll be in later to coo over her I've no doubt." Then she walked steadily out of the room, followed by Anna. They were together again, for the first time in two days.

"The three of us…" Tom repeated Cora's words, approaching the bed, his voice cracking with emotion. He approached the bed, watching Sybil as she stared into the baby's face.

"The three of us." Sybil echoed him, stroking the baby's cheek with her finger, a tear rolling down her cheek. Tom sat down on the bed next to Sybil, placing his hand on the baby's cocoon of blankets and peered into his daughter's face for the first time.

"You did it, you really did it." He pulled Sybil into him, careful not to press the baby between them and he felt relief and happiness flood through him. It seemed so impossible that this was real, too good to be true. Only a year ago they had just arrived in Dublin and Lord Grantham's refusal to attend the wedding was still tearing Sybil apart. They both still had so much to prove to so many people, so far to go in their journey together. "Can I say hello?" Sybil moved the baby from where she rested, head in the crook of her mother's elbow with one hand clasping one of Sybil's fingers, into Tom's hands. He was far less tentative than she expected, Sybil was still holding her like she was glass – the slightest movement could break her. He cradled her against his chest, moving the blanket from around her head.

Tom had held many babies in his time, he couldn't even remember the number of times he had been to visit a new baby cousin or niece or nephew, and he had always been of the opinion that there seemed to be little difference in one baby compared to another. But he was captivated by the face of his daughter. She was perfect and the overwhelming feeling of love he felt as he looked down at her was completely new to him. She had a perfectly round little face, with rosy cheeks and a shock of dark hair, which curled slightly at her ears. She was asleep, her eyelashes brushing her cheeks. One of her hands was gripping the edge of the white blanket she had been wrapped in; she seemed impossibly tiny and delicate. She was quite simply the most beautiful thing he had ever seen. He ran his finger along the curve of her nose and placed a kiss on her forehead, taking in her warmth and her smell.

"Your dream was wrong about one thing." Sybil, laid back on her cushions, had been watching Tom take in every detail of the baby, "She is you in miniature." She wiped away the tears, which continued to fill her eyes – happy tears, her head felt full of love and visions of their future. Tom looked up at Sybil to see a contented smile on her face. "Just wait until you see her eyes open, they're so like yours." Tom stroked the top of the baby's head, her hair beneath his hand like silk, and broke into a huge smile all over again. He leant over Sybil, holding the baby against his chest with one arm, and kissed his wife.

"She's perfect." He stroked Sybil's cheek with his free hand and placed a second kiss on the end of her nose. "Absolutely perfect."

Anna came into the room, looking somewhat refreshed, with the tin bath and washcloths and water. Sybil was sat up in bed, fast asleep with her head resting on Tom's shoulder. The baby was on his chest, her little fists clenched together as she slept. Tom's eyes were shut, his breathing heavy. She quietly placed the bath at the end of the bed, not wanting to disturb them; something as mundane a bath could wait a little while. She wished she could capture the moment, the sight she saw; a little family that had just begun.

Not a terribly long one tonight, and no flashback I'm afraid – but I was just desperate to welcome the baby! Now I just have to name her! I hope you enjoy it and I'm sorry this kept you waiting a little longer than I intended. I hope you all liked it and thank you for everyone who left comments on the last chapter – I hope this was the happy result everyone was hoping for! How could I ever kill either of them off? Let me know what you think, I love it when I get a little email telling me I have a review to read – it really makes my day! Be back soon with more. LP. x


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter 10

The baby was the first to stir; her whimpering woke Tom and he held her close to him as she squirmed against his chest – her mouth opening and closing like that of a baby bird.

"Hungry, little one?" He pulled the blanket around the baby and moved her into the crook of his arm so he cradled her. "Shush now, don't fuss." He put his little finger into her open mouth to placate her for a while. Her eyes opened slowly as her faced relaxed, no longer screwed up in preparation to cry. Sybil had been right - he saw his own eyes look up at him, his own eyes in the tiny face of his daughter.

He looked over at Sybil, who had not been woken by the baby's cries. Her hands were resting on her stomach, her wedding band catching the light that shone through the window. She still looked exhausted, her skin was slightly pale and her breathing was heavy and even – giving away the depth of her sleep. He pulled the sheet back up over her body, brushing her cheek with his hand. Looking at her now he didn't think he could bear to wake her, but he could feel the movement of the baby's gums on his finger slow as she grew impatient, wanting something to fill her belly. She wanted what only Sybil could give her.

He freed his hand from the baby's mouth, hoping her fussing wouldn't begin again right away, and reached for Sybil's hand squeezing it gently. She stirred as he brushed the hair from her forehead, her eyes flickering open as the baby let out the beginnings of a cry.

"I'm sorry." He tucked the loose strand of hair behind her ear as her eyes fell on the baby. "I wanted to let you sleep for a while longer, but she's hungry – I'm not sure how much longer I can keep her happy."

Sybil looked from Tom's face to that of the baby, her little face screwed up as she let out another cry. "She needs feeding?" Tom nodded and helped Sybil sit up in the bed, putting a cushion behind her back before handing her the baby. "How, but I don't know how…"

"It's ok," He placed a kiss on her forehead. "Neither does she." He moved round the bed and opened a drawer in the dresser, pulling out an envelope containing paper covered in his mother's handwriting. Notes she had promised Sybil on the more practical elements of looking after a newborn; how best to feed to prevent soreness for the mother and to ensure the baby was full, how to rub at the baby's back to bring up wind, how to swaddle a newborn and pin a nappy. Sybil had already read each one over and over, the paper curled at the corners where it had been thumbed multiple times.

The cursive handwriting, neat and straight and easily legible, gave away what his Ma had given up to be the wife and mother she was today. She was intelligent and extremely well read and had attended school for as long as it was possible; she'd taken a job in a factory at fourteen to earn her keep at home. Her enthusiasm for learning though had continued, even with a house full of children she would read whole books in a matter of days. It was his opinion that Peggy Branson's brain was wasted and it her was mournful for the opportunities she could have taken had she been born thirty years later.

_ Mrs Branson's kitchen was full of women. It was a Friday morning at the end of June and Mr Branson's birthday – a special birthday meal was being prepared, but every woman in his life seemed to want input. As the day progressed there was a definite feeling of too many cooks spoiling the broth. Sybil had been put on peeling duty with Mr Branson's youngest sister Aileen, a stout woman of about thirty-five who seemed to possess the ability to talk endlessly without breathing. _

_ The pregnancy was now showing to the point there was no hope in hiding it and Aileen had spent the last thirty minutes discussing every detail of the births of her first three children including the colic her eldest had suffered with, robbing the whole house of any sleep for four days. Sybil had not spoken a word for half an hour. _

_ Peggy Branson watched her daughter-in-law sit gallantly through an onslaught of advice from Aileen, a woman she herself could barely abide. "I think we can spare her the grizzly details for now Aileen, my kitchen is not the place for such details." _

_ Aileen stared at Mrs Branson, looking slightly dumbstruck that for once in her life she had been told to be quiet. Sybil shot Mrs Branson a thankful look, to which she responded with a smile. She turned back to the fish stew on the stove, an immediately heard Aileen begin again, preaching the importance of leaving the baby to cry and settle itself. _

_ Another voice chipped in, contesting Aileen's advice. Soon every mother in the room had begun to offer up their own thoughts on childrearing. "You'll need to remember to wind it properly – good sharp taps on the back, especially before bed else no one will be getting any sleep for weeks and you'll cause it all sorts of problems..." _

_ Sybil was beginning to feel overwhelmed in the kitchen, there were too many details she had to remember, things to do and look out for, advice coming from every direction. She walked into the parlour and slumped in a chair at the table. She let her head drop into her hands, elbows resting on the table. Mrs Branson approached, setting a strong mug of tea down in front of Sybil and sat down next to her daughter-in-law, placing a reassuring hand on her arm. "I've never even held a baby before."_

_ "Don't you worry about it, Sybil dear. My Tommy, he knows. There's been enough babies in this house over the years for him to learn." Sybil turned her head to look at Mrs Branson, a look of slight confusion on his face. "No man grows up in this house and doesn't do his bit. When my youngest was born she had a delicate stomach, the only one who could wind her so she didn't scream the house down was Tommy." She smoothed down the hair that had escaped the twist pinned to the back of Sybil's head. "Those lot in there, they're making babies seem more complicated than they need be. They need feeding and keeping safe and to be loved, that's what matters the most. And if you need any more help – about the practical things, I can tell you about anything that doesn't come to you naturally – my mother wrote me down the things I was likely to forget about feeding – it's amazing what your brain forgets at first, at 2 in the morning when it should be asleep and it is faced with a crying, hungry baby. And your mother, I imagine she too was clueless having her first – she will have words of advice to offer you I'm sure." Sybil's face fell slightly. "Still not heard anything?" _

_ It had been almost three weeks since Sybil's last letter from her parents; she was beginning to grow anxious. The last letter from Sybil had been sent at the beginning of June and had included a letter from Tom asking if they could come to stay at the end of August, when the baby was due. Sybil was beginning to worry her father was finding it easier to ignore the letter than send a negative response. _

_ "Nothing since that letter from Mary and that arrived at the end of last week." Sybil broke down, tears streaming down her face. The pressure of her father's disapproval had made its way over the sea, his silence affected her more than any words ever could. She felt the baby in her stomach move, a flurry of gentle kicks, as if reminding her that it was there – attempting to comfort its mother from inside the womb. _

_ Mrs Branson pulled her into an embrace; she smelt of soap and cooking and warmth – a comforting smell that in her childhood Sybil had associated with Mrs Hughes. "Now now, there's no need for tears."_

_ "I'm so embarrassed by my father. Who is he to be so judgmental?" Sybil wiped at her face with the back of her hand as Mrs Branson released her. "He's no right to do this. What must you think? That he is some snob of a man who believes anyone without a title is not worth talking to?" _

_ "I know that is not the case, my dear. I don't feel judged by him. I feel sorry for him if anything – that he is missing out on this special time. From what I heard from Tom over the years your father is a fair and kind man who will do anything to achieve what he thinks is right. He's just coming to terms with change – in the world as a whole, in the life you are going to lead, in the life he is going to lead from now on. The war has changed everything he is used to – including the way his precious daughters will spend their days. I suspect that you and Tommy represent that change to him. He will accept it if you give him time, although I know that giving time is easier said than done." She handed Sybil a handkerchief, wiped a tear from her own eye and rose from her seat. "Now, how about some cake with that tea. Tea and cake do wonders in times like this, like a tincture for the soul." _

_ Sybil could not help but smile as Mrs Branson disappeared into the kitchen, in this house everything was solved by a cup of sweet tea, an embrace and warm words from Mrs Branson. There was openness, a feeling of love and comfort – how on earth had she ever feared Peggy Branson? _

Sybil held out her hand for the envelope, the baby grizzled in her arms, nudging at her mother with her head. She pulled the paper she needed from the envelope and busied herself with calming the baby, following the instructions carefully.

Tom made his way to the end of the bed, where Anna had left the things for Sybil's bath. "The water is still warm, Anna can't have been gone long." Tom felt the side of the jugs that Anna had placed next to the bath. "I'll fill it and after she's fed you can get in." He carefully peeled a bar of soap from its paper package and placed it with a washcloth on a chair next the tin bath. "Do you want me to fetch Anna to help…" He was cut off in his question by the silence now filling the room, the baby's whimpering completely gone. He smiled; Sybil was completely engrossed in the baby in her arms, stroking her cheek as she began to feed. 'See how quickly you both learned' he thought. Already Sybil was so changed, the mother to his child. They looked beautiful together, his girls and at this moment he couldn't believe his luck.

**For some reason this chapter took a lot of effort for me to write, nothing sounded right and I wasn't quite sure where to go with it! I re-watched season 2 over this week and I'm back on track now, with a plot direction in mind and a good start made on the chapter 11! I hope you enjoy this one. Baby Branson will have to be named soon (I do have one in mind, but am open to your suggestions, you may well sway me!) as it is getting rather confusing with all the 'shes' and 'hers' being thrown around! Thank you to everyone who has sent me reviews on the previous chapters and those who've added this to alert lists – it really does mean a lot. Thank you to the people with name suggestions too. Hope you all like it – let me know! **

**LP. x**


	11. Chapter 11

Chapter 11

Tom filled the bath as Sybil sat up in bed feeding the baby, Mrs Branson's letter on the eiderdown next to her. She felt the warm weight of the baby on her stomach and was awe struck that just a day ago this tiny little person had still been inside her. She held one of the baby's feet in her hand, stroking the soft sole and feeling her tiny toes. Sybil studied every inch of her daughter; the way her hair had dried in slight waves at the back of her head, the tiny nails on her starfish hands and the slight flush that appeared in her cheeks as she fed. But for her hair, which was already showing signs of being a dark and curly, the baby's features were almost entirely Tom's.

She lent back into the pillows, tipping her head backwards so it rested on the top of the headboard – trying to get used to the feeling and the sound of the baby feeding. She allowed her eyes to close for a second, her eyelids still heavy with fatigue. She felt the baby clasp her tiny hand around her finger, gripping it tightly. She could not help but look at her face again, as her feeding slowed – her hunger now satiated.

"Pass her here, I'll see to her winding." Sybil handed the baby to Tom; wrapped in her cocoon of blankets she was warm and drowsy, her belly full. He sat in the chair in the corner, placing the baby on his knees and unwrapping her down to her cloth nappy. Sybil watched him stroke the soft skin of her stomach with his hand, the sudden cold on her skin and the feeling of his hand on her stomach brought the baby round from her drowsiness, her eyes shot open and she began extend her limbs. "I know, I know. I'm sorry to wake you. You'll thank me in the long run, little one." He reassured her, his tone was calm and barely audible to Sybil. He lifted the baby onto his shoulder, her little head in the crook of his neck, and began to rub gently at the base of her back – he continued his comforting whispers all the while.

The sight before Sybil made her heart flutter. She could not imagine what her eighteen year old self would think of this – fresh from her first season, thoughts of becoming the wife of an heir. But she knew now that what such a match would have brought to her – money, a position in society and a title – would come at the expense of this. A man who loved her as deeply as she loved him, who was more than willing to care for a baby, their baby, with the gentle hand of a mother or governess; a man who made her immensely happy.

Tom noticed Sybil watching him, a smile on her face. "You're a natural Tom, she seems so settled with you."

"I've had a fair bit of practice – it's you who is the natural, her little belly feels full." He draped a blanket over the baby's and continued to pat at her back until she relaxed into him, a calmness coming over her, indicating his job was done. "I don't want her getting cold." She settled onto his shoulder and was soon asleep, her balled fist clutching at Tom's shirt.

He rose to his feet slowly, not wanting to wake the sleeping infant. Placing her in the cradle set in the corner of the room, he swaddled her in the blanket and watched her as her breathing settled and became deep and even. Despite Sybil's claims on the baby's looks, Tom could see a look of his wife in his daughter's face when she slept – it was the same look he saw in Sybil every morning when he awoke before her.

He turned back to the bed and sat on the bed next to Sybil, lifting his arm to allow her to rest her head on his chest. "She needs a name. Now she is here, she needs a name." His words were soft, his tone quiet – aware of the sleeping baby barely two feet away. He kissed the top of Sybil's head as she settled her arm around his waist.

"You're right." Sybil began to play with one of Tom's shirt buttons, twisting it slightly on its thread, this way then that. "It just seems such a big decision – how on earth are we supposed to decide? And no matter what we choose, I've no doubt Granny will have something to say about it."

"I suspect even if we called her Violet your grandmother would be displeased."

Tom and Sybil had spent many evenings in bed in recent months, discussing possible names for the baby that had then squirmed and kicked in Sybil's stomach. While middle names for a daughter had been decided - Maeve in honour of Tom's late grandmother and Poppy, chosen by Sybil after reading poems from the front, to make them remember what had been going on in the world at the time they fell in love - coming up with a first name had been more problematic. Shortlists of names had become increasingly long until both decided they would wait to see the baby's face before trying to name her.

He took her hand in his and listened to Sybil list the names they had discussed all those months ago. It was far easier now to discard names that did not seem to suit, but no easier to settle on a name they were both certain was right. It was the last name on the list that captured them both and with that it was settled.

Sybil gently swung her legs out of the bed and winced slightly as she attempted to stand. There was some blood on the sheets and her nightgown would need changing.

"Would you mind…" Sybil looked to Tom for help, as she lowered herself back down onto the mattress. He made his way round to his wife, taking her hand and placing a reassuring hand on her back as he helped her to her feet.

"Shall I get Anna to help?" He slowly guided her to the chair by the bath, moving the cloth and soap onto the floor. There was no longer steam coming from the bath water, but Tom suspected a cool bath would be a relief to Sybil; the heat in the room had built up as the morning progressed and was now verging on unbearable.

Sybil shook her head, "I'll be fine in the bath with a little help from you, but the bed will need stripping. We'll need Anna to get hold of the fresh sheets." She allowed Tom to help her remove her nightdress and untied the ribbon that had been holding back her hair, feeling it fall over her bare shoulders. "I don't want to rush her off her feet, it's been a long few days for her as well." She lowered herself into the bath, enjoying the feeling of the cool water against her skin. She washed with the soap and cloth, the feeling of being completely clean a huge relief – days of exertion and heat had left her feeling quite filthy.

Tom stripped the sheets from the bed and bundled them together with the soiled nightdress, before pulling the cord that rang the servant's bell for Sybil's room. He opened the window to allow some fresh air into the room.

There was a knock at the door and Anna entered, a clean set of sheets and nightclothes in her arms. She slipped through the door, not wanting to throw it open and rob Sybil of her modesty. Tom was rinsing her hair using a jug and filling it with water from the bath. Anna rarely saw a husband show such attention to this kind of task, nor a wife so free of inhibitions in front of her man – at least not in her years in service. Her father was the only man she had even known to assist his wife in such a way. It was heartwarming really, to consider that Tom was providing Sybil with a wonderful life, rather than just stripping her of a life of luxury.

Sybil squeezed the water from her hair, turning to face Anna and smiling when she met her eyes. "Anna, thank you so much for leaving this here, you knew exactly what I would need."

Wordlessly, Anna settled the sheets down on the bed and shook out a towel, holding it out for Sybil as Tom supported her as she climbed from the bath. "You look well, Lady Sybil. How are you feeling?"

"Much better now I've washed, it's amazing the wonders a bath can do. Can we do away the 'Lady' nonsense now Anna, I find it a little unnerving these days and I fear you are the only one who would listen to my request!"

Anna nodded, "Of course, if that is what you'd rather."

Sybil wrapped herself in the towel and approached Anna, taking her hands in her own. "Thank you so much Anna, for staying with me, with Mama, all that time. Thank you – I don't know what I'd have done without you." She pulled Anna toward her, a move that at first took the housemaid by surprise before she too settled into the embrace. "I don't know how I will ever repay you."

"It's quite alright, you did wonderfully." The two women exchanged warm smiles, more friends in this moment than anything else. "And she is so beautiful." Anna turned to the cradle containing the newborn baby and took several slow and quiet steps toward it. The baby was bundled in her blankets, one hand pressed against her cheek, her lips pursed slightly in her sleep like a little rosebud.

Tom held out the fresh nightgown to Sybil, holding the neck open to allow her to pull it on easily, she let the length of it drop down past her knees before approaching her daughter. "Would you like to hold her Anna?"

"Are you sure you wouldn't mind?" Anna turned back to Sybil, now at Tom's side, her hand on his waist and his arm wrapped around her.

"Of course not. She'll have to get used to being held, she'll be passed round like a dolly back in Ireland and I suspect once Mama and my sisters get to know her they will be much the same." Sybil watch as Anna carefully secured the blankets around the baby and picked her up, supporting her head with her hand and cradling her body against her chest.

"She'll be a real beauty, that's for sure." Anna looked down at the baby's face and watched as she stirred in her sleep, making a series of little snuffling noises as she settled herself again. "She's the topic of conversation already downstairs, Daisy could barely stop on about her over breakfast. If you're short of any name ideas Mrs Patmore and her will have a few to throw into the pot." Anna stroked the downy hair on the baby's head, rocking her slightly to and fro. In the short time since her birth the baby had already transformed; her skin was now alabaster, her features had softened and her hair was beginning to curl.

"I think we've finally decided on one already, I hope it meets approval with everyone – I fear Mrs Patmore's approval may be harder to gain, even that Granny's." Sybil settled her cheek on Tom's chest and watched as Anna too fell in love with the baby in her arms. "I was wondering, Anna, would you like to be the first to know?"

Anna looked up at the new parents before her, flattered that she was trusted enough to be the first to hear such an important announcement, her smile grew wider. "I'd be honoured, to be the first to know her by a name."

Tom looked down to Sybil for approval, the final nod that they were sure of their decision. "We're going to call her Lillian - but we want her to go by Lillie, for now at least." And suddenly the tiny baby in Anna's arms had a little identity all of her own.

**I apologise if some of the details on looking after newborns are a bit off (I know that Sybil became very skilled in breastfeeding suspiciously quickly!) but I've not really any experience of tiny babies myself – so those of you who are a little more experienced might think I'm talking nonsense (and feel free to correct me!) You wouldn't believe the time it took me to finally come up with a name, I was set on one and then everyone's suggestions were so wonderful that I thought every one of those would be perfect too. I chopped and changed and went with my original choice in the end with a bit of inspiration from the reviews thrown in too! Thank you especially to Miss Pixie, the reasons you gave for Poppy were beautiful – so fitting, I would have gone with that as her first name, had I not felt a bit strange naming her after myself! Please let me know what you think. The story will finally leave the bedroom soon, I promise! Thank you for reading, I'm so grateful! LP. x**


	12. Chapter 12

Chapter 12

Cora was in bed drifting in and out of sleep, recovering from the events of the last couple of days. The curtains were shut, blocking out the mid afternoon sun, filling the room with a golden haze and stuffy warmth. She shifted in bed; wrapping her arm around the pillow and pulling the bed sheet up to her shoulder – even in such heat she couldn't sleep without a sheet covering her up to her chin. Her eyes flicked open as she heard the door open and she watched her husband enter the room, his footsteps deliberately slow and careful, trying to be as quiet as possible.

Cora and Robert's eyes met and they exchanged smiles as he settled himself on the bed next to her, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to wake you."

"You didn't darling, I've been half awake for a while." She pushed herself up in bed and allowed Robert to rearrange her pillows so she could sit comfortably against the headboard, "I should get up soon anyway, if I want to sleep a wink tonight. And I can't miss dinner tonight, we have a new life to celebrate."

Robert had remained in his seclusion in his library since his meeting with Tom on the stairs, his mother had not been to the house yet that day and his elder daughters and Matthew had kept to the summerhouse in the gardens, enjoying the weather outside in the breeze where it was bearable. He had gathered from the ripple of excitement from Mrs Hughes, Carson and Bates – the only people he had seen that afternoon – and hearing that his wife had retired to bed, that the baby had finally been born.

"Everything went as it should?" Robert looked down at his wife. It amused Cora to see him try and mask his concern for his daughter, restraining his emotions.

"Sybil was so strong Robert and so brave. You've got a granddaughter, we've got a beautiful little granddaughter." Cora felt tears come to her eyes as she saw the smile spread over her husband's face – the relief at his acceptance of the baby was overwhelming. Her fears from the last few months disappeared as Robert engulfed her in an embrace; she felt like she had her family back.

**Just something short today I'm afraid. More on way, but I thought a little snippet to let you know I am still writing would be nice. Big hand ins for uni are now out the way so I have a few weeks breather before exam work kicks in again. Hope you enjoy! Please review, I do love reading what everyone has to say! Thank you for all your feedback so far. LP. x**


	13. Chapter 13

Chapter 13

Sybil was to be taken a light dinner on a tray that evening, her lying in meant she would not be up and about as usual for around a week – she needed to let her body recover from the latter stages of the pregnancy and the labour while focusing all her attentions on the baby. Beryl Patmore prepared poached fish and green vegetables and a milk jelly; she arranged it on a tray and looked in disgust at the meal before her.

"Poor girl," she wiped her hands on her apron, gesturing toward Daisy who was arranging the family's dinner – braised steaks and duchesse potatoes – on silver platters, "After what she's just been through she needs something more to eat than this. She'll be ravenous the poor mite, she needs liver and something substantial to restore her energy – but Lady Grantham's orders must be obeyed."

The kitchen was busy, the usual buzz before dinner as everyone took their place – each person a vital cog in the works. "I'll do a plate for Branson too, Mrs Patmore. Anna said he was still up in the room with her, she suggested he have a tray this evening." Daisy's eyes were wide, her sudden realization that she had taken orders from someone other that the cook filling her with fear.

Her worries were unfounded however, "I thought the same, can't see him wanting to go into the lion's den alone even after all this time." She paused for a minute, still looking despairingly at Sybil's bland dinner, "Put a little extra on his plate and we'll put a note on Lady Sybil's tray, saying there is some heavier food for her if she wants it. I've got a bit of liver left from the servant's pie, I'll do a bit of that for her as well." Mrs Patmore busied herself with the illicit additions to Sybil's meal – giving an extra sliver of meat to Isis who had followed her like a shadow for the last half an hour.

The kitchen suddenly changed, the background hustle and bustle was silenced and Mrs Patmore was alerted to the presence of Mary in her evening finery, stood in the doorway. "I'm sorry everyone, I didn't mean to cause a disruption this close to dinner, carry on as you were." For a moment the still persisted, before a single motion of Mrs Patmore's hand caused the action to recommence.

"Lady Mary, my…wha…" Mrs Patmore gathered her thoughts; Mary's elaborate gown and her sparkling engagement ring seemed too much of a stark contrast to utilitarian nature of the kitchen, "We weren't expecting you down here this evening, my Lady."

"I know, I'm sorry – I hope I'm not causing a problem. Anna told me Sybil was to have a tray and I was wondering if I might be the one to take it up. I'd be saving you a job and I was rather hoping to have an excuse to see the baby." Mary's face was resisting a smile, trying to keep a demure look about her.

"Of course Lady Mary, of course. Thomas will follow you up to carry the other tray – but you are welcome to take Lady Sybil's if you should like, my lady."

A note of Daisy's scrawling handwriting was slipped under the napkin on Sybil's tray and a bowl of liver squeezed next to it. Mary took the tray and followed Thomas out of the room. They took the back staircases to the first floor of the house, Mary had not been in these quarters since she was a little girl playing a game of hide and seek with Carson and Edith; an attempt by the butler to distract the little ladies of the house while their mother awaited the arrival of their youngest sister.

Thomas deftly balanced the tray on one hand, using the other to open doors for Mary. She was concentrating all of her efforts on using both her hands to keep the tray steady – to avoid spilling the tumbler of water over the plates of food. Thomas knocked on Sybil's bedroom door and waited patiently until it opened. Tom looked first at the footman, his face slightly stern, before turned to Mary and allowing a smile to flood over his face.

"Tom…" She smiled at him, her excitement at the prospect of meeting the baby almost overwhelming her, "Is…are they awake? I was wondering if I might snatch a glimpse of the baby before dinner." She held up the tray in her hands, "I come bearing gifts of food for Sybil."

Before Tom could answer Sybil's voice made its way to her eldest sister, "Mary? Is that you? Come in, come in." Tom opened the door further and used his back to steady it open as Mary entered the room. He took the second tray from Thomas abruptly.

"Thank you Thomas, I'll bring these back down later – after the kitchen has settled from dinner." Thomas did not answer; he just turned and left without a word. Over his dead body would he keep up the airs and graces the rest of the family received for a man he had worked alongside. It still sat awkwardly with him – his disapproval of Tom's new found position in the bosom of the upstairs of the house made him resent the Irishman more than he ever had before.

Mary made her way into the room, a look of anticipation on her face. Tom had lit the lamps in the bedroom, filling it with a warm glow. The window was open a fraction, enough to let some air flow through and make the curtains dance but not so much that the evening air made the room too cool. Sybil had been dressed in a fresh white nightdress and her hair had dried in a plait down her back, a ribbon securing the end. Crisp sheets were on the bed and Sybil was propped up on pillows, the baby in her arms was wrapped in the soft white blanket Mrs Branson had knitted in the month before they left for Downton. A pink face peaked from the folds of the cloth and a tiny fist was wrapped around Sybil's finger, the frill on the wrist of a nightgown was visible. Sybil looked up beaming as Mary approached; the sisters' smiles matched each other perfectly.

Tom placed his own tray on the dresser and took Sybil's tray from Mary, she nodded her thanks and he wrinkled his nose slightly at the sight of the food it held as her put his wife's dinner down next to his own.

Mary made her way to the bed; her hands clasped together. Sybil looked down at her daughter and beckoned for Mary to sit down next to her on the bed. She did so, kicking off her shoes so as not to mark the fresh sheets. She leant on the edge of Sybil's pillows so their shoulders were touching and she gained the best view of the baby's face. "Oh Sybil, she is beautiful. Truly a little beauty." She reached out and stroked the baby's cheek with her index finger, marveling at the perfection of the soft warm skin. It was quite extraordinary when Mary thought of it, that mere hours ago this little being had been the bulge of her youngest sister's stomach, not yet known to the world as a person of her own. "Mama told me you did ever so well and that she was a pretty little thing, but I couldn't imagine…" Emotion caught in Mary's throat, stopping the words reaching her mouth.

Tom, unsure if he was intruding on the moment between the sisters settled himself quietly in the armchair in the corner of the room, he took his book in his hand intending to read but found himself captivated by the effect his daughter was having on her mother and aunt.

"Would you like to hold her?" Sybil looked up at Mary like a little girl proudly showing off a new toy.

Mary nodded, holding out her hands to take the baby. Sybil gently transferred the little bundle of blankets into Mary's arms; the baby stirred slightly then settled against the warmth of her aunt's body, her tiny starfish hand resting against her cheek. The two women stared down at the baby for a while, watching the steady rhythm of her chest moving as she took breaths.

Mary stroked the hand pressed against the baby's rosy little cheek, amazed at the difference in size between it and her own hand. "Does she have a name?"

"Lillie. Although officially she'll be Lillian, but it doesn't seem right yet, when she is still so tiny."

"Lillie." Mary repeated, letting the soft flow of the letters roll over her tongue. "It's lovely. Perfect for her." A happy silence settled on the sisters and Sybil settled back in the pillows, her arms feeling empty without Lillie's weight there. Already it seemed unimaginable that she had only recently come into the world.

"You're her first visitor, other than Mama and Tom. I'm surprised Granny hasn't been up to investigate yet."

Mary gave her sister a knowing look. "Oh I've no doubt she will be soon, the minute dinner is over, she'll be devastated she wasn't the first to give her opinion on this little one."

Tom smiled to himself, remembering the moment he had encountered the Dowager Countess on the stairs. She had shown in her discretion earlier in Sybil's labour a side to her he had never seen or heard of before - a respect for those who cared for the ones she loved. He wondered if he had found an unlikely ally in Violet Crawley.

_**This is a repost – rereading it while writing the next chapter I spotted a lot of errors or bits that didn't read right, so I edited and put it up again! Enjoy! LP.x**_

**Had a burst of writing inspiration this afternoon and put this little chapter together. Lillie will meet the rest of the family soon, including Robert and I've got some exciting things planned for the next few chapters – just wanted a lovely little fluffy one for now. Hope you enjoy it, thank you for all of your lovely comments and those who keep reading the new chapters even though I am anything but consistent at putting them up lately! Please read and review, I love to hear what you think. Thank you! LP. x**


	14. Chapter 14

Chapter 14

Lillie awoke, whimpering slightly to herself in the dim light of the bedroom and wriggled in her cradle. Tom was sat up in bed, half asleep, Sybil slept soundly, her head resting on his chest. He was pulled out of his slumber when the baby began to cry; she was hungry again and wanting a feed. Tom gently woke Sybil, her own sleep too deep to be woken by the baby's still timid cries and arranged her pillows so she could sit comfortably in the bed. He walked to the cradle and placed his hand on Lillie's little, round stomach; the contact comforted her somewhat and she was further placated when he picked her up and held her to his chest. He swayed slightly back and forth with her like that while Sybil came round properly and got herself ready, before laying the baby gently in Sybil's arms. He watched in admiration at her attending to the baby, already knowing exactly what to do even through her tiredness; her worries about how she would cope seem futile now.

"Can you pass me her blanket Tom? I don't want her getting cold." Sybil looked up briefly, catching the look on Tom's face – he looked like the cat that got the cream.

He retrieved the blanket from the cradle, spotting the dinner trays as he did so. They were still on the side, plates stacked neatly on top one another. Tom wrapped the blanket around the baby at Sybil's breast and kissed his wife on her forehead, "You look so perfect together – beautiful." Her smile warmed his heart; her eyes sparkled with her happiness. The sound of the baby gurgling between them, having opened her mouth too wide and disconnecting from the breast, took Sybil's attention again. "I'll take these downstairs, I said I would. I'll not be long." He carefully bent to kiss Sybil and brushed the baby's head with his hand before picking up the trays and turning to leave.

He left the room as quietly as he could and winced as he heard the door slam slightly behind him. He crept down to the kitchen through the back stairs; the servant's passage was quicker down to the kitchen and there were no bedrooms to pass whose occupants he would risk disturbing. He washed the plates and cutlery quickly and efficiently and put them away. He left the trays on the table, he wasn't sure where they belonged and couldn't risk Mrs Patmore's wrath if he put them in the wrong place, for the sake of Daisy if not himself. He set about warming some milk for Sybil and found a tin of ginger biscuits in one of the cupboards, they would do for now. Sybil had been somewhat disappointed with her fish and jelly and had made light work of the liver and her share of the steak. She said she'd rather hoped there had been some cake or a fruit pie to follow, she couldn't stomach the milk jelly.

The kitchen was an odd place to be at this time of night, it seemed stripped of its insides when it was empty. No noise, no people sat around the table mending or peeling or drinking tea or gossiping. It was still warm though, the range was always lit and heat radiated from it. It was not unpleasant and Tom settled at the table with a discarded magazine while he waited for the milk to warm, reading about movie stars who seemed to exist a million miles away.

Robert was sat next to the fire in the drawing room watching the embers lose their glow, nursing a glass of whiskey. He heard the baby's cries from upstairs and the noise of a bedroom door closing. He got to his feet, waking Isis as he did and the two of them made their way up the stairs. He paused outside Sybil's bedroom door and told the dog to sit and stay; she obeyed and settled back on the spot where she had spent several hours, keeping Tom company.

Robert knocked gently and drew himself close to the door, "Sybil." He heard no response from inside, "Sybil, it's your father. May I come in?"

Sybil was surprised to hear her father's voice follow the knock on the door; she'd expected her mother or maybe one of her sisters or Anna. She covered her decency with the blanket, "Papa? Come in."

He entered the room slowly, still wondering if he should just turn round and retire to his oen bed but Sybil encouraged him to come in. Robert visibly blushed when it became apparent to him that Sybil was feeding the baby, such an act was rarely witnessed by men of his standing, even when their own children were born and he couldn't help but feel uncomfortable.

"She's nearly finished now, she'll be asleep again soon." She looked up from Lillie's face, sensing her father's unease and embarrassment. She gestured to the chair across the room, it faced at such an angle that the nursing baby would be hidden from the view of anyone sat in it by the end of the bed. "Sit there, Papa. You'll catch the breeze from the window, it'll stop the stuffiness of the room getting to you."

Robert dutifully sat in the chair, first settling into the silence of the room and studying his shoes with intent, wishing he had just gone up to bed. The sound of the baby snuffling made him look up. Sybil's attention was fully on the baby; her head at an angle stroking Lillie's cheek with one finger and Robert couldn't help but notice she had 'that' look about her. The one he remembered Cora having in the days after each of their daughters' births – exhaustion and euphoria in equal measure. Nothing else in the world causes such joy that any amount of tiredness can be forgotten. He could tell already that motherhood suited his youngest girl and that maybe what he had considered a disaster of a life for her to choose would actually be the making of her.

He suddenly wondered if she knew about his conversation with Tom, the olive branch he had offered his son-in-law. In some ways he hoped not. He didn't want Sybil to think it was a moment of desperation that forced a level of understanding between them, even if in many ways it had been.

Lost in his thoughts Robert failed to notice Sybil slowly slipping from the bed and steadying herself on her feet, the baby still held close to her chest. He rose, going to help her, to sit her back on the bed but she shook her head and dismissed him, "Please let me, it feels good to stretch my legs and Tom has been watching me like a hawk, making sure I stay tucked up in that bed, safe and sound." She slowly begins to walk the short distance from the bed to the armchair in the corner, "If I have to rest at least let it be in the chair for a moment." Robert held onto her as she took the last few steps and helped her into the chair. "I think she wants to say hello to her Grandpapa."

Sybil looked up at her father hopefully but Robert shook his head. "Perhaps not now, tomorrow, when your mother is here."

Sybil smirked slightly, seeing through his excuses and took one of her father's hands in her own. "She is nothing to be scared of, you won't break her."

The look she gave him won him over and he allowed his daughter to slip the baby into his arms. At first it felt awkward, but before long the baby settled comfortably into the crook of his arm and Robert was taken back to the years he was able to hold his daughters in one arm like this.

Robert was overcome. He hadn't expected merely holding the baby in his arms to elicit such emotions in him. She was warm and the weight of her in his arms was comforting. Her eyes opened, they were bright blue and framed by long dark lashes and seemed to stare directly up at him.

He felt Sybil's eyes on him as he looked down at the bundle in his arms. "We have decided to call her Lillian. Lillie." She felt relief as the corners of his mouth curled into a slight smile – approval.

"Lillie Branson." He repeated, seeing how it flowed from the tongue. He couldn't help but be struck at how it suited her. "She is a beautiful little lily, our own little flower."

**I know, I know – my head is appropriately hung in shame. I always apologise for my absence then promise more chapters soon. This time I'll just say here it is and I hope you enjoy it! I think we all knew Robert would be a sucker for his granddaughter. I'm overwhelmed by all of the people who have taken time out of their day to read this story and that some people have felt enough about it to review! It really does put a smile on my face getting alert emails. Thank you so much for reading, rest assured I am not done yet and I'm sorry if it takes me as long to get C15 up as it took me to sort this one! LPx**


	15. Chapter 15

Chapter 15

**A couple of chapters of flashbacks now, the next few chapters will follow on from one another, we'll return to the 'present day' soon enough! **

_It had been warm for September, the leaves were just beginning to turn and the sun had shone beautifully through the church windows, washing the congregation in colour as it hit the glass. Tom stood, in his best suit, at the front of the church a look on his face that conveyed both his nerves and his contentment with what his life was soon to be. His family had gathered in the pews directly behind him, separated by the aisle from Sybil's guests, who were far out numbered. _

_Mary and Edith had arrived three days before, their presence had seemed very odd to Tom at first – he had never seen them outside of Downton and the surrounding area, now they were in his home, it was as if they were on his turf. Anna had come with them, and idea Cora and Mrs Hughes had put together in an attempt to take her mind off the case being built against Mr Bates. He'd met them from the station and there had been a slightly awkward exchange of greeting – all involved were not quite sure where they stood in their new familial relationships. He had carried their cases to the tram, where the sisters sat wide-eyed on their seats taking in their surroundings. They were, he realized, unlikely to have shared their transport with others like this before and were seeing everything Dublin had to throw at them in one confined space. They looked a little awkward in those surroundings and only exchanged a few polite words with Tom. _

_When they arrived at the house though, it was different. Sybil almost through herself through the front door as the approached it – their arrival no doubt given away by the eyes of Tom's youngest sisters who had their noses pressed against the window of the parlour. He could hear their excited shouts fill the house but they were silenced when they actually stood before Mary and Edith and hid slightly behind their mother. Tom had never seen Sybil and her sisters so free; they flung their arms around each other, their glee at seeing each other again obvious to all. _

_Mary held Sybil at arms length and looked her over, as if inspecting her for any change her new life had brought about in her physicality. Seemingly satisfied she pulled her youngest sister back into an embrace and smiled at Tom over Sybil's shoulder. He had finally earned Mary's acceptance. _

_Peggy Branson had eyed Sybil's sisters with some suspicion on their arrival; they seemed even less familiar in her world than Sybil had at first. Mary and Edith had arrived in traveling clothes that Peggy could only have dreamt of as a girl – hats that matched their summer weight coats, gloves and pale skirts. Impractical pretty clothes. She didn't remember ever owning something so frivolous. Even her wedding dress, new for the occasion, had been purchased with the understanding it would be worn to church and other occasions for years to come. She had married at nineteen and was still wearing it at thirty-eight at which point the seams were too heavily darned, the hem too tattered and she had used the fabric to make dresses for her youngest daughters. They had an air of grandeur about them that Sybil, despite her apparent lack of practical knowledge, hadn't seemed to have. But, like Sybil they had proved her wrong in the end. _

_Peggy had come down the morning after the Crawley sisters had arrived in her house to find a parcel and note on the pile of sewing on her armchair. The handwriting was so similar to Sybil's she had initially thought it was a letter from her, but the signature at the bottom said Mary. It instructed her to unwrap the parcel and keep the contents with Sybil's dress but away from Sybil herself until the day of the wedding. Under the layers of brown paper was a beautiful veil, edged with white lace so fine and intricate that Peggy couldn't understand how it was staying together. The letter explained that this was a gift from the girls' mother, so that she could be present at her youngest daughter's wedding in some form at least. There was also a band of thick satin ribbon, to be worn at the waist, a section of which was embroidered with blue thread, tiny flowers and vines. Mary and Edith had done it themselves it seemed with the help of their Grandmother. Peggy had heard about this Grandmother and pictured a woman who she thought in another life she would get along with. She appreciated the no nonsense practicality of the Dowager Duchess, despite their very different paths never having crossed. She warmed the Crawleys suddenly, the women at least for their efforts to be involved in Sybil and 'her Tommy's' day. Her feelings toward Sybil's father were still hostile, no amount of positive words from Tom could make her think anything better of a man who had judged her son and her family not to be good enough for his daughter. She wrote to Cora that day, thanking her on Sybil's behalf, promising to send an account of the wedding as soon as she could. _

_Sybil had cried the morning of the wedding when she was presented with the veil and waist sash – realizing that her mother and grandmother had done their best to involve themselves. She'd sat and followed the patterns on both with her finger before embracing her sisters, Anna and Mrs Branson in turn. They'd helped her into her dress, white at Mrs Branson's insistence – most definitely a wedding dress, tied the sash around her waist and pinned the veil into her hair before almost in unison tearing up also. She made a beautiful bride and her face seemed to glow with happiness. _

_Peggy glanced across the church to look at Sybil's sisters and Anna, the only ones on the opposite side of the aisle and caught Mary's eye. They exchanged a smile and she saw Mary take hold of Anna's hand and squeeze it gently. Peggy looked forward to the front of the church as the organist began to play; she wanted to see her Tommy's face when he saw Sybil for the first time as a bride. As his bride. _

**Hope you enjoy this chapter; few more like this to come before we get back to Downton and babies! Thank you for everyone who has stuck with this, I'm amazed that I have been getting the occasional lovely review from people even in my silence! Thank you for taking the time to read this and I'd love it if you would let me know your thoughts! Back soon! LP. x **


	16. Chapter 16

_Chapter 16 _

**Just to let you know, this is another full flashback chapter! **

_ His breath caught in his throat when he turned and saw her; he'd seen her in fine gowns before, but she had never looked as beautiful as this. She glowed from her very core. So mesmerized was he by the sight of his soon to be wife that the congregation, now rising to their feet for the entrance of the bride, seemed to fall away. He felt pride rise in his chest, bringing with it emotions he hadn't expected. He couldn't help either the wide smile that came to his face nor the tear that he felt trickle down his cheek. He wiped it away, not caring about the stick he would inevitably get from Joseph, stood at his side, later on in the evening. He was truly in awe of Sybil. _

_Though at the time he had resentful of Mary and Edith discovering them on their way to Scotland, he was grateful of it now. They were doing this properly, the way Sybil deserved to have her wedding day. Not in secret, in front of strangers, the prospect of telling of telling her parents hanging over them like an ominous spirit. Today there was no feeling that they were doing anything wrong; though it had been somewhat strained, approval of both families was with them in some way or another. _

_She drew level with him and he studied her face beneath the veil, her eyes were full of tears, making the blue of her eyes twinkle like sapphires. She smiled up at him, her cheeks slightly flushed from the heat of the room. He felt his own face mirror hers and the nerves that had settled in his stomach dissipated. Father Quinlan began the mass, his lilting voice filled every corner of the church just as the smells of incense and candle wax did and Tom felt her hand slide into his, hidden by the folds of her skirt. _

_They emerged from the church last; the congregation lined the steps and showered them in rice and confetti as they walked out into the warmth of the sunshine, fingers still entwined. Everyone was talking, laughing, cheering – the noise of the outside world seemed a wonderful contrast to the still silence of the church. They were congratulated first by Mr Branson, who looked like a completely different man in his smart Sunday suit than he did day to day, in his work clothes. It was obvious to Sybil, when Mr Branson was scrubbed up like this which of his parents Tom took after. His Pa for sure, apart from his eyes which were most certainly Peggy's. He embraced each of them in turn, offered his congratulatory words and then made his way over to his own wife a look of love and affection in his eyes that made Sybil smile. _

_Gradually people relaxed into their own groups, enjoying the feeling of the sun on their faces. The priest was talking to Mrs Branson, she was insisting that he come to the party they had laid on for the rest of the day. Tom's countless aunts and uncles, brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews were engaging one another in conversation while the youngsters ran around the legs of their parents chasing one another and scooping the confetti from the floor and throwing it again and again. Mary, Edith and Anna were stood with Joseph, his wife and another of Tom's brothers. They were chatting animatedly, their barriers having been broken down in the days spent surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the Bransons and their households. _

_Sybil and Tom were still halfway up the stairs, slightly separate from the rest of the crowd, drinking in their surroundings. _

"_You look beautiful," Tom turned his face to Sybil, a twinkle in his eye, "I felt like I was bursting to say it all along in there. I've never seen anyone so beautiful in all of my life." Sybil felt a slight flush come to her cheeks. _

"_You've your mother to thank for that, for such a beautiful dress…" He shook his head, cutting her off. _

"_No, it's you. You're what is so beautiful." A smile came to Sybil's face then; she was happier in that than she ever remembered being and she was flooded with relief at having made it through the ceremony without any mistakes or letting her nerves get the better of her. "What has a man like me done to deserve a wife as wonderful as you?" She giggled slightly, hearing him call her his wife. It was something that only a few months ago only seemed possible in their dreams – never destined to become a reality. He kissed her, a gentle kiss first on her lips and then on the tip of her nose before pulling away and taking in every detail of her face. This was a moment her wanted to be able to recall forever. _

"_Sybil?" Mary, Anna and Edith approached them, Mary's hand held out to her youngest sister, who took it and beamed at the two women stood before her. They each congratulated Tom and Sybil in turn and accepted a kiss on the cheek from Tom before he, sensing Sybil's need for a moment alone with her sisters, took his place next to his brother and the inevitably became the object of jest for Joseph. _

"_Oh Sybil, you looked so beautiful." Mary held both of Sybil's hand and surveyed her sister from arms length. Edith pushed loose hairpins back into the twists of hair at the nape of Sybil's neck and helped Anna reposition those holding the veil in place. "You know Mama wishes more than anything that she could have been here, I promised I would tell her everything about the day when I get home." _

"_And Granny will insist on the same I've no doubt." Edith chipped in as she smoothed the veil over the bodice of Sybil's dress. "She'll want to know every detail I'm sure, so she can question you on everything in her letters." _

_This made Sybil laugh, knowing that indeed the next letter she could expect to receive from her grandmother would be one questioning Sybil's decisions about every aspect of the wedding. _

"_It means so much to me that you are here, all of you." Sybil took hold of one of Edith's hands and squeezed both of her sisters' fingers with her own and nodding gently at Anna. "Please, thank Mama for sending the veil, it is so beautiful – she was hear in that respect at least. I will have to write as soon as I can, I want her to know how much it means that she is still thinking of me. And to Papa too, I shall write to him – I shan't be uncivil with him." _

_The littlest of Tom's relatives were suddenly surrounding Sybil, wanting to hold her flowers and pulling her closer to Tom. She gave in to them, feigning a put upon look in the direction of her sisters as she was dragged to her husband's side. _

_Mr and Mrs Branson's house was full of relatives and friends and neighbours and with every hour that went by more and more people seemed to pack into the house. The weather was still so fine that even by 9pm that evening the doors to the house were thrown open, along with those to most of the houses on the street, and people were milling around freely in the street and through the house. A sister of Mrs Branson's, Bernadette, who lived only two streets away had made a beautiful fruit cake which she had decorated with both fresh and sugar flowers. The youngest of Tom's sisters, Kathleen and Meg had decorated the house both inside and out with streamers and paper chains and a collection of brothers, cousins and uncles had set up in the front parlour with their fiddles, whistles, flutes and a bodhran, the open windows allowed the music to spill out onto the street where there was dancing. _

_ It was a wedding, a party even, unlike anything any of the Crawley sisters had attended in their lives. Sybil sat, exhausted from dancing with Tom and her new family, on a chair set against the wall of the Branson's house. As she watched Mary and Edith, the last of their inhibitions and refined behaviour finally gone spin round with Tom and his brothers and friends she thought about how different this was to the dream of a wedding she'd been envisaging through her childhood years. She had taken off her veil and now wore her hair loose around her shoulders; it tumbled in curls in which Kathleen had woven the smallest flowers from her bouquet. She played with the petals on one of these flowers as she watched her sisters dance and laugh before her in the light of dusk. _

_ "A penny for them?" It was Anna who was by her side; Sybil motioned for her to sit on the arm of the chair. _

_ "I was just thinking how different today has been, from everything I thought my wedding be when I was a little girl." Anna smiled, a knowing look in her eyes. _

_ "For the better or the worse?"_

_ "Oh Anna," Sybil turned to Anna and smiled at her, exuding her new found happiness, "It's better than anything I could ever have imagined. So much better." _

_ They were dragged then from their moments of rest by Tom and Kathleen and Meg, as Tom demanded another dance with his bride and his little sisters with the new friend they had found in Anna. _

_At around 11pm, when the children began to grow tired, people gradually began to peel away from the party. Sybil thanked Peggy Branson whole heartedly for everything she had done and asked her thanks to be passed on to Mr Branson, who had fallen asleep in his chair in the kitchen his youngest daughter on his lap also sleeping through the sounds of the band still playing mere feet away from them. She embraced her mother-in-law and kissed her on the cheek and after Tom had done the same Peggy said, "The two of you have made me so proud today and I wish you all the happiness the world has to give." She wiped away the tear that had begun to snake down one cheek and swatted them away light heartedly, "Now be off with you both, off to your own little home and leave me to sort this lot." She disappeared back into the house and Tom raised an eyebrow at Sybil, gesturing that his mother may have had a drink too many. _

_Sybil kissed her sisters and Anna goodnight and promised to return to the house the next day to see them again before they had to return to England. All had found chairs outside and were attempting to cool off in what little breeze there was to the air. Mary gave Sybil's hand a tight squeeze before Tom and Sybil walked hand in hand down the street away from the house. _

_They were walked to the new house by Joseph and his family, on their own way home. When they left them at the gate at the front of the house Joseph had whispered something in Tom's ear and winked at him, Tom shook his head in amusement at his brother's brashness. Sybil feigned being too innocent and preoccupied in saying goodbye to Joseph's wife to notice or understand the connotations of her brother-in-law's actions._

_Tom carefully opened the door with his key before turning back to Sybil and sweeping her off her feet, taking her in his arms to carry her over the threshold. Tom set Sybil down in the hallway and watched as she took in her surroundings. She gasped when she opened the door at the end of the hall into the kitchen and stepped inside. _

_Someone, presumably an older sister or aunt of Tom's, had been into the house before them; the stove was lit and well stoked, the floors and surfaces were scrubbed, the windows thrown open filling the rooms with the heady smells of the evening and some flowers sat in a vase on the table. Sybil approached them and cupped a single bloom in her hand; feeling the soft, smooth petals against her skin. _

_ "It's beautiful," Her voice was barely above a whisper, but her happiness was audible and as she turned round to Tom a warm smile came to her face. It was completely different to the last time she had seen it, when it had been an empty shell in dire need of wallpaper and some attention. "Who..." Her voice trailed off as she saw the grin on his face and twinkle in his eye. _

_"You like it?" He moved toward her, stepping out from the kitchen doorway, the floorboards creaking beneath his feet. Sybil held out her hand to him, inviting him closer. _

_ "It's perfect." He felt the warmth of her next to him as their bodies drew closer together, fingers interlaced. He felt his heart beating faster in his chest as she looked into his eyes. "Our home, just ours. Ours together." He slipped his free hand around her waist, pulling her closer to him and kissed her, slow and lingering. _

_ When he broke away they were both suddenly very aware of being completely alone together. Sybil noted that you could count on the fingers of one hand the number of times in the last few months they had been alone together. The few hours in the hotel half way to Scotland, the journey from Downton to Ireland and a snatched moment one evening sat in the yard outside the Branson's house. It seemed that Mrs Branson was even more vigilant of a watchdog than either of Sybil's parents. There had been no opportunity to slip away to any garage in Dublin under the pretense of 'ordering the motor.' Even back then, back at Downton, their moments alone had occurred before what was between them had seemed real. This seemed to sober them both, though neither had drunk more than one glass that evening due to their constantly being congratulated, they were giddy. _

_ "Hi," He pulled her close to him again, gently this time and brushed a piece of hair out of her face. _

_ "Hi," She echoed, wrapping her arms around his waist and placing a soft, gentle kiss on his lips. "What do you say you show me the rest of the house?" He smiled, looking down into her eyes and nodded, taking her by the hand and leading her around the two other downstairs rooms. They reached the foot of the stairs and Sybil ran a hand over the smooth wood of the banister, both lingered for a while, not quite knowing what action to take next. It was Sybil who took Tom's hand and led him up the stairs and along the landing, looking in the two small bedrooms first – one of which had a writing desk set up in one corner and a couple of shelves of books, the other was scrubbed clean and freshly painted but empty but for Sybil's two trunks – before the paused again outside the third door on the corridor. "Our room?" She asked, her voice barely a whisper. She pushed open the door; Tom's hand still clasped in hers and entered the room. The room was lit by a few candles, dotted around on the dresser and washstand and the small tables on either side of the large wrought iron frame bed. The window had been thrown open, making the curtains dance in the slight night breeze and there were two or three little vases each containing a posy of flowers. A newly stitched eiderdown covered the bed, which was neatly made up with sheets and white pillowcases. A chair stood on either side of the bed; a cotton nightdress was neatly folded on one, a pair of pyjamas on the other. A pair of slippers sat under each. It was a beautiful room, light even in the dark of the even but comfortable, the wooden floor covered around the bed by a rug. _

_ She felt Tom's arms around her waist then and his chin rested on her shoulder. The feeling of him against the skin on her neck made her gasp slightly. He placed a flurry of gentle kisses on the side of her neck, extending down to the dip that lay behind her collarbone. This truly took her breath away and made it feel that all of her nerves were increasingly sensitive. She turned round to face him then and placed a kiss on his lips most passionate and lustful than either of them had allowed themselves in the past. The kiss deepened and they moved as one until she was leaning against the footboard of the bed, her hands grasping at the fabric of Tom's shirt. He returned his kisses to her neck, but this time they were more forceful, full of the yearning of recent years. She let out a groan that she didn't seem to have any control over and pulled of Tom's tie and shirt. He stopped for a minute looking her directly in the eye as if asking if it was ok to go any further, she answered him with a line of kisses that snaked along his jaw and to his lips as she ran her hand over his torso. As her hand reached his waist he began to undo the line of tiny buttons that ran down the back of her dress, revealing the silk of her undergarments to his touch for the first time. _

_ They lay in bed that night, truly man and wife. Sybil's head was on Tom's chest, fast asleep she was spent by the events of the day. He couldn't, wouldn't let himself drift off. Wanting to drink in every moment of this, feeling like the luckiest man in the world, finally with the life he had dreamed of for years. Her legs were entwined with his. Her left hand, bearing a brand new wedding band, had been tracing the freckles on his chest before she fell asleep and now it lay against his collarbone. He took in the smell of her hair, roses and a perfume he had remembered her smelling of at Downton, something her sisters had presumably brought with them. He was enchanted even by the noises she made in her sleep, not snores exactly but little snuffles accompanying each exhale. He allowed his hand to run down her back, exposed where the sheet had slipped away, feeling the gentle peaks of her spine to the two dimples a few inches below her waist; her skin there was soft to the touch and creamy white – untouched by the sun – a stark contrast to her hair, curls which had been let free of their intricate knot and now cascaded across the pillow. With the feeling of her warm body pressed against his and the memory of how she looked in her wedding dress in his head, Tom Branson finally allowed himself to close his eyes and drifted to sleep, feeling like the cat that got the cream. _

**Another flashback for this chapter; thought they ought to enjoy a little time as carefree newlyweds! Not sure whether C17 will be back at Downton with the baby or a little more of their life in Dublin as a couple. Perhaps a bit of both? What does everyone think? Thank you so much for all the lovely feedback I received on the last chapter, it's nice to be back writing again! And thank you too to everyone who has favourited this or gets alerts on it – it really means a lot to know that people are not only enjoying what I have written, but want to read more! Thank you again and let me know what you think the next chapter should be. LP. x**


	17. Chapter 17

Chapter 17

**We're back (briefly) in Downton with the Bransons and their new little baba – sorry for the flitting about! Thank you for all your lovely comments and for sticking with me and reading new chapters! Hope you enjoy this one, LP. x **

Sybil had a slight temperature when Dr Clarkson came to check on her the following morning. Tom stood next to the bed, cradling the baby who was sleeping soundly against his chest. When Clarkson announced his concerns a flash of worry crossed Tom's face, an expression the doctor picked up on immediately. "Nothing to worry about at the moment, just something to keep an eye on." He folded up his stethoscope and returned it to its place in his bag, his words soothing Tom's concern. "Send for me if it gets any worse or anything changes. But you seem to be taking good care of her Mr Branson, of them both." Tom wordlessly shrugged off the doctor's praise; it had been Sybil after all who had been putting in the hard graft. Clarkson turned to leave the room, bag in hand and Tom lowered himself onto the edge of the bed, stroking the hair on the top of Lillie's head. Sybil reached out a hand to hold the baby's tiny foot hanging free of her blankets, it seemed impossibly small and delicate in contrast to her palm. Clarkson turned to them a final time stood in the doorway and said, "The best thing for you both now would be to get a good few hours rest" before closing the door softly leaving the new family alone.

"A chance would be a fine thing," Sybil chuckled to herself, meeting Tom's knowing gaze. It had been a long night, all they had heard about newborns sleeping well in their first few days of life were in their eyes fantastical myths. Lillie had woken on the hour, sometimes needing a feed, others just seeming to want to know she was not alone. A gentle hand on her stomach or having blankets wrapped tightly around her would settle her back to sleep quickly but it was exhausting for Tom and Sybil – both of whom were already weary from a lack of sleep.

Lillie was returned to her cradle and Tom lay next to Sybil on the bed, she leant against his chest and they listened to the sound of their daughter's breathing, heavy and even in her slumber. The mid-afternoon sun that streamed through the windows was pleasantly warm; today was not as overwhelmingly hot as the previous few weeks and a breeze flowed through the house. As he felt Sybil's body grow heavy against his, he thought how things could not be any more perfect and then, unable to resist, he too gave in to sleep.

Tom stirred before Sybil, the sun was beginning to set and having dropped in the sky was now shining directly onto his face through the window. A few hours rest have given him a new energy, he couldn't lie there still any longer and decided to put his mind, now clear of the fog of fatigue, to good use.

He settled in his study, the door open so he would be able to hear the baby stir and comfort her to avoid waking Sybil. He pulled out a piece of paper and set about writing to his mother, informing her that she had a new granddaughter. Not her first, her fourth in fact. But the news that she was to have another grandchild had excited Peggy Branson just as much as it had the first time.

_It was usual on a Sunday afternoon for Peggy to cook a dinner for the entire family, though her four eldest children were grown and married it did not seem right to her to have their Sunday meal without them, especially after so many years of Tom being absent. And so there they were, crammed into the house quite happy to be huddled together. The New Year's weather had been unrelenting, the hoped for change from the bitter cold of December had not happened – if anything it was now worse. Now too cold for fresh snowfall the coverings that had fallen in the final weeks of the previous year had frozen making many of the streets treacherous. The house was warm, filled with so many bodies and with a well-stoked fire. In usual circumstances the number of bodies in a relatively small space made the heat overpowering, but the weather made it quite welcoming and thawed fingers and toes which for the rest of the week could not be warmed. Full bellies from dinner and the comfort of the front room had lulled many of the children to sleep, with many of the adults not far behind._

_ The thought of the dirty pots and plates in the kitchen had prevented Peggy from relaxing completely and she made her way to the kitchen, stepping noiselessly and carefully over the little girls – Joseph's two and Meg – who had curled up around each other at Mr Branson's feet. The last people she passed on her way to the kitchen were Sybil and Tom, both sat in the big armchair, Sybil's sleeping head on her husband's shoulder. In Peggy's opinion she had looked exhausted all day; a little slower and quieter than usual and her face a little pale. Tom met his mother's gaze as she looked up to study his face and the two exchanged a smile._

_ Peggy was half way through the plates from the table when she sensed someone had joined her in the kitchen and she knew without turning it was her Tommy. Both silently took on a task, working around each other perfectly – Peggy washing and Tom drying. It embarrassed her to think of that other Sunday afternoon she had found herself alone in the kitchen with her son, all those months ago, when summer was just beginning. What she had thought of Sybil then, what she had thought of the two of them. That their imminent marriage was just an arrangement they had been forced into after a fumble somewhere unsavoury had left Sybil in a delicate condition. It hadn't taken him, them, long to convince her otherwise. _

_ "Tommy," she said, passing her son the last of the dinner plates, her hands beginning to ache from the cold of the water, "I'm sorry about what I said all those months ago. Thinking you were just doing your duty getting married. Given time to think it over in my head has just made me feel more uncomfortable with the way I felt, the way I judged her so quickly." _

_ "Don't worry about it Ma," He set the last plate down, and took hold of his mother's hands rubbing them with the cloth to dry them and warm them through, he could see the mottled white spread across her fingers like the blood was retreating from the cold. _

_ "It says a lot about your brothers that it is what I come to expect," She raised one eyebrow slightly, looking back into the parlour. Tom smirked, knowing she was right. "And who am I to talk really? I'm glad someone in this family finally got things right." It was well known in the family that Peggy had been expecting on her wedding day, nothing short of divine intervention could have allowed the delivery of Joseph a mere three months after she wed had it not been the case. She knew what it meant to be young and in love and hadn't been terribly surprised when Joseph, something of a lothario even as a teenager had been wed in a hastily arranged service under the severe gaze of his future father-in-law. She suspected Francis, her youngest boy would end up the same before long. _

_ Peggy's eyes fell on Sybil, who was now curled up in the seat of the chair and still sound asleep. Tom followed his mother's gaze and saw the concern in them. "She'll be okay, Ma. Nothing to worry about." _

_ "She's not right Tommy and it's over a month since she went to the doctor…" She shook her head and removed her hands from Tom's grasp, turning back to the sink. "You should call for him again, if it's money Tommy, we have some put away – don't you two go without a doctor because of the money…"_

_ "It's not the money Ma." He was touched by his mother's need to prevent his own embarrassment, trying to avoid bruising his ego by offering him the money as quickly and quietly as possible, "She's not ill." _

_ "Come on Tommy, don't you be ridiculous," She turned again to face him again, ready to argue. "She's white as a sheet Tommy, ghosts have more colour than her. You're too proud for your own good." She bustled over to the cabinet, pushing aside a pile of sheets and pulling out a battered old cigarette tin. He recognized it as the savings tin; anything left over from his Pa's wages went in there for emergencies or summer treats. "Here, take it – use whatever the doctor costs, put it to better use than filling my cupboard."_

_ "No Ma," He pushed the tin back into his mother's hand, his smile growing wide. "When she saw the doctor he said she wouldn't be needing to see him again for a few months, if at all. He said midwife would be more appropriate when the time comes…" _

_ That stopped Peggy Branson's arguing. Mouth slightly open she looked from her son to Sybil's sleeping form and then back to Tom's face. "A midwife? She's…oh my…" His smile was infectious and she could not help but mirror it. "A baby? She's having a baby?" Tom's nodding was hindered his mother throwing her arms around his neck and holding him to her. "You're going to be a da?" _

_ He muttered something tongue in cheek that sounded like, "Well, I sure hope it's me who is going to be a Pa..." and received a playful smack on the shoulder from his mother, followed by a kiss on the cheek. _

_ "Oh Tommy, I'm so pleased. You have no idea. And your Da, oh your Da won't be able to wipe the smile from his face." The excitement of a grandchild never waned, this would be her ninth but still she could not think of anything better than a new baby to fuss over. "You must take care of her Tommy, let her rest, she's still working all the hours God sends – it's no wonder she looks dead on her feet." She paused, trapped in her own thoughts, "I'll start a stew for you to take home, to have in for tomorrow, one less thing for her to think about." And she set about stewing the left over meat from dinner, dirtying the pans that she had just scrubbed clean. _

Tom had barely begun the letter, too lost in his thoughts, when he heard a cry from Sybil's bedroom. He set down his pen and made his way into the room, the evening cast it in darkness. He went directly to the cradle, hoping to reach the baby before she began to scream; she was bound to be hungry, it had been hours since she had last woken to feed.

"Patience little one." He whispered to the baby as he bundled her against his chest, "You're going to have to let your Ma sleep some time, she's still exhausted from your entrance." He made his way over to the bed, where the outline of Sybil's blanket covered form could just be made out in the dim light, rocking the baby back and forth in a vain attempt to trick her into forgetting her hunger. "Sybil," he raised his voice slightly from the whisper, but did not hear anything from his wife, "Sybil, the little princess is hungry." He placed a hand on her arm, still covered by a blanket but his touch was not rewarded with a reaction. Finally, with Lillie now fussing and burrowing against his chest searching for milk, Tom pulled back the blanket covering his wife with his free hand. She was curled in a fetal position and when he stroked her forehead with the back of his hand, intending to wake her, he drew back instantly. Her skin was searing hot and soaked with sweat. Her teeth chattered uncontrollably against each other as her body convulsed with shivers. Helpless and fueled by an almost paralyzing fear, Tom began to shout for help, his tiny daughter wailing like a banshee in his arms.

Suddenly everything was far from perfect.


	18. Chapter 18

Chapter 18

_ The weeks in Ireland immediately following the wedding, before Sybil began to feel ill had been a euphoric blur – beyond anything Tom had ever allowed himself to dream of. _

_ Years of service had conditioned Tom to be an early riser and it was rare that Sybil was awake before him of a morning. The thrill of waking up with her next to him, sleeping soundly, was still as great as it had been the morning after their wedding. He would lie and watch her sleep, her face serene, usually with one hand tucked securely under her chin. Often, in these early hours of the morning he was struck by how different their lives were from a year ago. The world was still at war, almost completely on its knees after four long years of fighting. And he and Sybil, he was still trying to make her see that they could have a life together to be proud of – full of laughter and love and passion and happiness. _

_ 'If only I could have seen myself now' he would think as he pulled her closer to him and felt her settle against his chest in her slumber, to have known that he would have everything he had dared wish for and more – the Tom Branson of the past would scarcely have believed it. _

_The things they learnt about one another, living together, astounded both of them; having thought they already knew the other entirely – the little details about the other person were new to them. The way Tom liked his toast – almost burnt and left to cool before the butter was spread, so it didn't melt but sat on top of the bread, retaining its' opaque yellow colour and remaining slightly cool. Sybil, a product of nannies and governesses who instilled such rituals, would sit before bed and brush her hair fifty times on each side. This fascinated Tom, who would lie in bed watching over his book as her precise and carefully counted strokes produced a shiny, fluid wave of hair. _

_Coming home to Sybil everyday, meant Tom's spirits grew the further into his walk home he got, even as the summer gave way to the crisp cold evenings of autumn. She'd been trying her hardest to be the picture of a perfect housewife, despite Tom's objections and attempts to do his own share of the housekeeping. Usually home from the hospital before he returned from the paper Sybil had had a number of different dishes sat on the table waiting for him. She would sit still, watching him eat the first few bites, her own cutlery still firmly in its place on the table, wanting to study his reaction and deem that meal a success or not. The meat and potato stew, his mother's tried and tested 'throw it all in a pot' recipe had been a triumph as had been Sybil's beef and onion pie, made from the left overs of the day before. Fish it seemed was not Sybil's forte however, always cooked a little too long it was often rubbery and she hadn't quite got the hang of removing all the bones meaning Tom was always slightly on edge during dinner on Friday evenings. Her face would drop when she saw him pause to pick a fish bone from his teeth and a look that reminded Tom exactly of a sulky child, annoyed at herself more than him. It seemed so strange to Tom that despite their years discussing women's rights and Sybil's desire along with his that she have her own life, her own job, her own enjoyment, she seemed so driven to perfect keeping a home. _

_One particular Friday, toward the beginning of December when Autumn had long given in to winter, Tom had arrived home and found Sybil asleep in an armchair, the smell of burning filling the house. She was in such a deep sleep, still in her uniform, that the smell of the fish burning on the stove hadn't woken her. He put water on to boil, to wash the burnt crust from the pan and carried Sybil to their bed, covering her with a blanket. The acrid smell of vomit was in the bedroom and the bowl was missing from the wash stand – it would be in the outhouse as it had been every other night this week. She'd been worse the week before, so fatigued she was barely able to get out of bed some days. This must be the end of it, he thought, the smell of cooking making her stomach rebel. But the way she slept concerned him, this was the sleep of someone exhausted almost to breaking point – the kind of sleep that comes with illness, not recovery. He covered her in blankets and an eiderdown, the bedroom was cold, the darkness outside bringing with it bitter temperatures, and set about trying to rid the house of the odour of their burnt meal. He made her tea and grilled some bread on the stove, spreading butter and some of his mother's jam on the top of it. _

_She woke with a start, clearly confused as to how she had ended up in bed in almost complete darkness. The last she had known she had sat down to remove her shoes, the dinner was beginning to cook and she had been ill again. Tom was still an hour from returning home and yet here he was, sat next to her on the bed studying her, his face showing concern. _

"_The fish!" She suddenly remembered meal she had begun to cook, her voice rasped with sleep. She went pale as the lingering smell of burnt fish met her nose, Tom reached for the chamber pot just in time and she was sick again, it made her head spin and she fell back onto the pillows. "I'm sorry," she said, "I'm so sorry." She began to cry, exasperated that her own body was letting her down – not fighting whatever ailed it. Tom lay on the bed, abandoning Sybil's hastily prepared supper and held her to him, feeling her bury her head in his neck. _

"_You're alright now," He whispered, his tone warm and comforting, "You're alright now, I'll always look after you." _

As dawn broke Tom sat at Sybil's bedside, watching her sleep, one hand tucked securely under her chin as it always was. He stroked her hair and was comforted to feel relative cool on her forehead, where mere hours before the skin had been burning.

Her fever had broken in the early hours of the morning, Dr Clarkson having advised that sweating out the temperature was the best way to deal with the her sudden illness. More likely a virus she had picked up when her body was spent from the exertion of giving birth than a complication of giving birth itself.

"It could be anything," he had said after examining her, "we will be unlikely to know until we see how she begins to recover."

At the first sign of sunlight Anna had come and changed the sheets and Sybil's nightgown. Tom had lifted Sybil out of the bed and despite her half consciousness she had wrapped her arms around his neck and refused to let go. He was reassured that she knew it was him carrying her weight, the delirium of the evening before had left her confused whenever she was awake. They had bathed her; even in the few days since the birth her body was entirely changed and this shocked both Tom and Anna. Sybil's ribs were more visible under her skin and the roundness that had remained in her stomach was all but gone and her hipbones were visible once more. Just a few hours of illness had taken its toll. He was glad when she was dressed again and covered in blankets, he could just pretend she was sleeping then, when all that was a reminder of the terrifying night before were the slight shadows under her eyes and the lack of colour in her cheeks.

A gentle knock sounded on the door, bringing Tom back from his thoughts. He softly invited the visitor to come in and smoothed the hair out of Sybil's face. It was Cora, Lillie was bundled in blankets in her arms and all that was visible of the baby was one tiny, starfish hand. The smile Cora received from Tom gave away his mental and physical exhaustion – she knew he needed to rest if he too was to avoid getting ill, but the look in his eyes made her sure he would not take an opportunity to rest if it meant leaving Sybil's side.

The baby had been cared for by the wife of one of the gardeners, having recently had a son herself. She had volunteered to come to the house when the alarm was called and Dr Clarkson called to assist Sybil. She had found Lillie, now screaming with hunger in Mary's arms and had provided the baby with the comfort of a full belly. Cora had shown her gratuity by installing the young woman and her baby son in one of the bedrooms and insisting that Mrs Patmore make her a hearty dinner.

Now in her grandmother's arms Lillie slept soundly, blissfully unaware of the terror that had filled the house the night before. "How is she?" Cora asked, her tone hushed to avoid disturbing either her daughter or granddaughter.

"She seems to have improved in the last few hours – the fever broke not long after midnight, we, Anna and I have been doing our best to make her more comfortable at least." They slipped into silence as Cora lowered herself into a chair next to Tom, the weight and warmth of the baby in her arms was comforting and the gentle rhythm of Lillie's breathing reassuring.

Tom seemed suddenly away of his daughter's presence in the room and smiled as he studied her face. "She seems happier than when I saw her last." Cora looked down at the baby's face and stroked her cheek, letting out a sound of agreement to Tom's statement.

Tom let out a sob, which racked his entire body and drew Cora's attention from the baby in her arms. He couldn't lift his eye line to meet Cora's and instead allowed his upper body to drop so that his face rested in his hands; he continued to cry, taking snatched breaths through his tears as he broke down. Cora was taken aback by his sudden display of emotion; she could count on one hand the number of times she had seen Robert cry in the entire length of their marriage and it had been years since she had been around her father, his Americanism making him far less emotionally shy than the English. She placed a hand on his shoulder, not knowing the words, which would provide him with comfort. He looked briefly at Cora's hand, before taking Sybil's and staring down at her fingers interlaced with his.

"I'd never have forgiven myself if…" His voice cracked with emotion as he reached the end of his sentence, and he placed a kiss on Sybil's hand.

"You cannot blame yourself." Cora moved forward in her seat, shifting the baby in her arms, "You have taken better care of her than I've known any other husband to take care of his wife. Most men I have known barely see their baby in its first few days and you have taken better care of this little one than most nannies could." Tom turned to Cora and she saw the tears twinkling in his eyes, "You have shown Sybil love and care and understanding – more than we could ever have anticipated a husband to show any of our daughters. You've made her so happy, Tom; I could tell from her letters how happy she was with you and your family in Ireland. Every word was dripping with it, describing your home and her work and your family. You have given her every happiness she could ever have hoped for, than we would have hoped for her. And you will, you and your daughter will for many years to come." Tom closed his eyes as he took in Cora's words and reached out a hand to the bundle in her arms, moving the blankets so her could see Lillie's face – serene in her sleep her features transformed, she seemed so much like her mother, even down to the little hand tucked neatly under her chin.

**Sorry for the delay, I'm going to pretend it was for effect and not just me being lazy! Chapter 19 is virtually written (so I wasn't that lazy!) but I am off on my holidays tomorrow so it will likely be about a week until it is up. Thank you to everyone who takes the time to read what I write; I am so touched that anyone is still interested! Have a lovely week and I will update again as soon as I can. LP. x**


	19. Chapter 19

Chapter 19

**I think my flitting about in the flashbacks is potentially getting a bit confusing (especially when they are full chapter flashbacks) so I am going to start putting the dates of the flashbacks (which will still be in italics, 'present day' will be non-italic) in future chapters. I was considering going through and editing and putting dates in past chapters, but am not sure if I can do that without completely re-publishing. Let me know what you think, does it need it or can the timeline be followed without? **

_23rd December 1919_

_Sybil sat down to write the letter to her mother that she had been putting off all week. The knowledge of her pregnancy still felt raw, she was still upset - the shock had worn off and now all that played round her mind were the logistics, she didn't know a single thing about babies, she'd never even held one, they would have less money when she gave up work and Tom's job was still so new she couldn't help but feel uncertain. The time wasn't right. She was already mourning the last few blissful months. _

_She was uncomfortable and felt sick as a dog throughout much of the day. She no longer wore a corset when she was in the house; the pressure of the boning on her breasts was too much to bear. She was exhausted, her energy depleted no matter how much sleep she'd had. This made her ratty and she'd been picking fights with Tom. He had done well to hold his tongue and was trying his best to alter her mood, reminding himself that this new level of volatility was not under her control. _

_She began the letter like any other to her Mama, they had been writing to one another regularly since the wedding – Sybil suspected that now they were married her mother had realized she would not be returning imminently, her place was in Dublin now and written correspondence would be their only contact. She went through the routine niceties; how was she and Papa? And how was the weather in Yorkshire? She told her mother that Dublin was cold but the snow was beautiful and that the Christmas celebrations were already in full swing. Tom's work was going well, his mother was teaching her to knit – that surely would raise eyebrows, Sybil realized after writing it, knitting meant booties and bonnets and blankets for perambulators, even if the true purpose of these lessons was to knit Tom a scarf for his Christmas present. Too late now, she didn't have the energy to begin the letter again. _

_Sybil couldn't quite form the words in her mind, every time she tried her hand wrote another line which skirted around any actual subject of the letter – snippets of information which would make it obvious she was working up to something, they were too mundane and insignificant to warrant inclusion in a letter. _

_Tom watched her from his position in the chair next to the fire, his hands wrapped around a mug of tea, warming his fingers, which were still chilled from his walk home from work. The internal battle to find the correct words was showing in her face, in her body language. He knew what the subject of this letter would be and somehow it tore him apart that Sybil could not come to terms with their news. News he had been bursting to shout from the rooftops, to tell strangers in the street. Sybil had begged him not to mention anything to his mother, at least until she had told her own parents and received their response. They had been avoiding his childhood home, blaming the weather and extra hours at their respective jobs for their absence. In reality, Tom knew that it would not take long, once his mother saw how ill Sybil looked and how irritable she had become for her to become suspicious. It would be a miracle if they could get through Midnight Mass without his mother interrogating him about what had come of Sybil's visit to the doctor. _

_She sighed, an exasperated sigh and leant back in her chair, the corset that was still under her uniform meaning she could not bend her back. She winced slightly and tried to shift the tightness around her chest through her dress. _

"_Let me help," Tom rose from his seat, entering the relatively frigid areas of the room beyond the range of the fire's heat. He picked up the shawl that had been on the back of the armchair and placed it around Sybils shoulders. She leant forward then and allowed him to unbutton the back of her dress and slip it off her shoulders. He loosened her corset – the best he could do to ease her discomfort without completely stripping her of her clothes, not an option in mid-winter. He kissed her neck and rested his chin on her shoulder, feeling her hand come to his cheek and gently stroke it. Her fingers were icy. He gave her the remainder of his tea and wrapped her fingers around the smooth sides of the mug, wrapping his own hands around hers in an attempt to warm them. "Just out with it, your mother won't take it badly – she is a kind woman Sybil. This isn't anything to be ashamed of…" He trailed off, conscious of saying the wrong thing. She turned her face to his and let her head fall onto his shoulder. It felt heavier than it ought to, she was tired beyond tired. "I will light the fire in the bedroom while you finish and put the bed warmer between the sheets. Sleep will do you the world of good." _

_Sybil nodded, seeing and appreciating his kindness, but feeling as if no amount of sleep would remedy her fatigue. Tom placed a kiss on the top of her head and disappeared into the darkness of the hallway, she heard him climb the stairs and his footsteps in the bedroom above her head. _

_She took a deep breath, replaying in her head Tom's words, 'nothing to be ashamed of' and she just wrote it. 'I have some news for you Mama, I am expecting a baby.' She imagined her mother's reaction to these words; she would gasp, slightly taken aback but happy. Happy that she was to be a grandmother, happy that all was apparently well in Ireland, that Sybil appeared settled. Doubt began to creep in to her mind when she imagined her father's reaction, this would mean he could no longer pretend that nothing 'untoward' had happened. He would no longer be able to tell himself that this was a brief dalliance that would end with Sybil coming to her senses, annulling her unconsummated marriage and returning to Downton. The presence of a baby would make this illusion impossible, no matter how deluded Lord Grantham was about the situation. Then she thought of her sisters, how they would think her silly – always saying how her life would be different from theirs, the one that had been expected of her, she would see the world, do something worthwhile, have a life of her own. Now it seemed she had the same fate as always, and it had happened sooner than it likely would if she had married a title. She self-consciously added, 'Please, Mama, don't tell anyone yet. Not even Mary and Edith.' Reading it back, her shame burned through her words, and so she added a further line, 'I want to be sure that everything will go as it should before spreading our news.' She knew that her mother would accept this, the loss of her own baby would play on her mind and she would likely think Sybil sensible, rather than embarrassed or ashamed – closer to the reality. _

_Sybil wrote a final paragraph, hoping for a fast response and wishing the entire house a wonderful Christmas and New Year. Promising to write again as soon as she could and sending her love. She signed off and put the letter in the addressed envelope immediately, she would ask Tom to post it in the morning so she could not be cowardly and 'lose' the letter on its way to posting. _

_She pulled the shawl around her bare shoulders and took a candle into the darkness of the rest of the house. The bedroom was a comfort from the cold, Tom had lain her nightdress over the fireguard to warm and he help her out of her uniform. She gasped with relief when her corset was finally removed and Tom slipped the warm length of her cotton nightdress over her shoulders. Neither of them spoke a word as he helped her into a bed jacket and thick socks, but she caught his eyes and thanked him wordlessly. He pulled her toward him and she inhaled his smell and felt the warmth of his body radiate into her, suddenly, even if only momentarily, everything felt better. She knew this man would take care of her no matter how rotten she was to him, he would be tender and understanding and she felt lucky. She wished Mary and Edith could know this when they inevitably discovered her pregnancy – she could not imagine any of the men she had encountered in London in her season before the war nurturing her like this. _

_She slipped into bed and almost immediately fell into the state of half wakefulness that comes before sleep, lulled by the comfort and warmth that surrounded her. She was vaguely aware of Tom slipping into bed beside her a little time later, he settled himself beside her and she felt the gentle weight of his hand on her lower stomach. 'He will take care of me,' she thought as she slipped fully into a slumber, 'He will take care of us.' _

**Just a shorter one today, something that came to me when re-watching the Christmas special (again) a few weeks ago. I really need September to be here so I have something new to watch, I've seen all the others too much now! Sorry for yet another delay in getting this chapter up – rest assured a further chapter (may be 21 rather than 20) is virtually finished. Let me know what you think of this and if I should keep on going! Thanks for reading, LP. x**


	20. Chapter 20

**Warning: This chapter has something of an adult theme to it, certainly more so than earlier chapters so the rating is higher for this one. Let you know just in case! **

_There had been a period, around May time long after that evening he had returned home to find Sybil at ease with their impending parenthood, when she had been frankly insatiable. After weeks existing in a sexual desert he hadn't believed his luck the first time he'd woken to find her already awake, propped provocatively on one elbow and staring down at him like she wanted to devour him. He had startled slightly, finding her awake before him, but the way she raised one eyebrow made him realize she was up to something. He then felt where her hand was, her fingers drawing small circles on his stomach - set on a southward route. _

_"Good morning," he'd rasped slightly, his voice as ever not quite as awake as the rest of him. _

_"I wanted to catch you early, before work, so we had time. I just need…" She interrupted herself by kissing him, her lips almost forceful, her tongue searching. She was on a mission that much was obvious, she knew what she wanted and Tom was hardly going to stop her. _

_As she drew into him, her legs tangled around his and her kisses full of wanting and lust, he felt the hard mass of the baby between them. A physical representation of their love. He broke the kiss as his hand brushed the skin over her stomach, now taut with the shape of the baby beneath. The thought crossed his mind suddenly that he might hurt the baby, that perhaps he should do his best to dissuade her. Sybil noticed his hesitation, placed her fingers under his chin and brought his lips to her own, "It's fine, we won't hurt it." _

_He looked her in the eye and pushed a stray curl away from her face, "You're sure?" _

_She nodded and softly said, "I'm sure." He briefly wondered how she knew, who had told her but this was soon forgotten as she pushed herself into a sitting position and pulled her nightdress over her head. He sat up, resting his back against the headboard of the bed and allowed her to straddle him, she gasped as she did and took his hand tightly in hers. _

_They moved at first with a gentle and slightly cautious rhythm and he allowed his hands to trace the curve of her back, as they reached the two dimples at the base of her spine she reached down and kissed the spot on his ear that made his head spin. Her hands pressed against his chest and she began to move her hips faster, hungrily and almost frantically. He buried his face into the hair that flowed down over her shoulders and felt her breath hot on the side of his neck as her breathing became rapid and shallow. As he felt her nearing her climax she let out a moan that was half ecstasy and half longing – like it couldn't come quickly enough for her. They clung to each other as they both reached their release, his hands still at her hips, hers at his shoulders. They both fell silent, both feeling as if every nerve was more sensitive to any touch than before. She let her forehead rest on his shoulder and enjoyed the way his body felt pressed against his – something she realized she had missed far more than she thought. She felt him chuckle and drew her face up again, looking questioningly into his eyes. He kissed her gently on the end of the nose; both of them still catching their breath and raised an eyebrow, "Where on earth did that come from?"_

_She smiled, exhausted but satiated and rolled onto the bed next to him. "I had a dream and I woke up and couldn't get the thought out of my head." He thought he saw the slightest blush come to her cheeks, "I've missed you – missed us being like that."_

_He pulled her to him; her head on his chest covered them both with the sheet and blanket. "So have I my sweetheart, so have I." He paused then, thoughtful of his next words, "I thought you were never going to want to come near me again." He half laughed again, and received a sleepy response from Sybil that he couldn't decipher. So that's how it is, he thought with a smirk, she wakes me, gets what she wants and then goes straight back to sleep. _

_She dosed in the first light of the morning, rolling slightly away from him so the sheet fell from her body. As Tom went to cover her again, protect her bare skin from the cool morning he realized that this was the first time he had been able to properly study her body in its new state. He'd seen her undress, slipping quickly out of layers of clothes and into new ones to avoid the chill of winter lingering on her skin for too long. For the first time he noticed how pronounced the swell of her stomach had become, saw the faint beginnings of a line of darkened skin down the centre of her bellybutton. Her breasts were bigger, swollen to a slightly different shape and her nipples darker. Somehow seeing her like this, body changed while carrying his child made her seem even more beautiful and the thought that he had made her like this, filled him with a strange sort of pride. _

_He spread his palm over the peak of her stomach, imagining the baby, their baby, curled up beneath his hand, separated from him by only an inch or so. And then he feels it, a gentle but distinct movement under his touch, then again - a jab. Suddenly the little creature he imagined to be nestled in Sybil's womb, the one he was already so convinced was a girl, had something of an identity, a personality. He felt it again, slightly stronger this time and drew himself down so his head rested below Sybil's breasts, his palm still pressed flush against her skin wanting more than anything to feel it again. As if knowing it's father was awaiting a performance the baby continued to move, pushing its tiny limbs against Tom's hand, making a wide smile spread across his face. He glanced up then peering through the darkness at Sybil's sleeping face and then at the alarm clock next to the bed – 5:45. _

"_An early riser are you?" He whispered into her stomach, caressing the spot he had last felt the baby's movements, "Finally I'll have someone to keep me company in the early hours while your Ma gets her beauty sleep." He pressed a kiss into the skin just below her belly button, "We'll be partners in crime, you and me, little one. I cannot tell you the fun we'll have and just how much I cannot wait to meet you. You're everything I ever dreamed of, the two of you, you make me the feel like the luckiest man on earth." _

_Sybil, who had been brought round from her shallow sleep by the feeling of Tom's lips on her stomach, smiled as she heard his words. What a wonderful adventure this already was, their life together. He was keeping his promise; his devotion and love was bringing her every happiness. _

**This may the most inappropriately placed sex scene ever and I always feel a bit uneasy writing them in case they seem a bit out of place in a story that hasn't had much by way of them thus far, but I was anxious that Sybil did not come across (in this story) as a woman who suddenly became chaste, irritable and moping the moment she got pregnant – because I highly doubt that would be the case at all and I do seem to be writing her as such so far! Plus I had written the last bit, where Branson was talking to the baby and it need a little something else. **

**Next chapter we are back in 'present day' Downton to see how Sybil is getting on, think it will be another short one but it is better than nothing! **

**I hope you are still enjoying it and thank you for everyone for taking the time to read it! Let me know what you think! Be back soon, LP.x **


	21. Chapter 21

**I feel I should let you all know that from now on I suspect this story won't be in line with what goes on in the third series, with the proper trailer release being tomorrow I'm not sure how much crossover there will be! Especially in subsequent chapters which, believe it or not, I do already have planned out. I'm not going to make any more promises about them being up soon, when I do that it seems to delay me! If I don't I'm hoping there will be a flurry of new chapters for this! **

Chapter 21

Tom was asleep in the chair next to the bed when she woke up, his head slightly to one side and chin on his chest. Even in sleep, she thought, he looked exhausted. She was bleary eyed and felt weak, her limbs were stiff and her back ached. Her breasts felt full, to the point of discomfort, the skin stretched and tender. But she felt suddenly able to breathe, like a weight had been lifted from her chest.

The recent past was a disorientated blur in her memory and Sybil had no idea how long she had been confined to bed. It could have been any number of hours or days. She studied her husband's face; beneath his eyes were dark smudges and his skin had taken on the slightly sallow appearance of someone who had not eaten or drunk properly in the last few days. His waistcoat and tie were discarded on the back of the chair and the top three buttons of his shirt, missing its collar, were undone. One of his hands was resting on the bed next to her pillow, stretched out to stroke her forehead while she slept before he succumbed to sleep himself. A bundle of blankets was clasped against his chest, only a tiny fist, balled around a piece of Tom's shirt, was visible.

The quality of the light made Sybil believe it was early evening, the room felt fresher than she remembered, there was a breeze blowing in through the open windows. She slipped her hand into Tom's extended palm, carefully lacing her fingers between his. He stirred, taking in a deep breath as he turned his head toward her and allowed his eyes to flicker open. He looked at her for a while, the cloudiness of sleep still lingering and preventing him focusing properly on her face. She squeezed his hand and he blinked at her before he fully understood what was happening. She was conscious, she was free from the delirium that had been afflicting her in the last few days and she was smiling. A weak smile that gave away her ordeal of the last week, but a smile all the same. He mirrored it instantly, unable to keep the relief that flooded over him from his face.

She reached out and pulled his body against hers, the baby pressed between them in her cocoon of blankets. Their smells mingled, Lillie's of rosewater and milk, Tom's of the wax he used in his hair and the starch of his shirt. Sybil took a deep breath, comforted by their scent. She winced slightly as the baby was pressed against her chest; Tom sensed her discomfort and pulled away, kneeling on the floor next to the bed. He placed a kiss on the end of her nose and pushed a tendril of escaped hair from Sybil's forehead. He squeezed his eyes shut, blinking away tears.

"You're – are you okay? How do you feel?" Tom's voice cracked, emotion and fatigue overtaking him.

Sybil nodded her response, cupping his cheek in her hand. "Tired." She pushed back his hair and felt his eyes carefully study every inch of her face. "It looks like I've put you through it." Her voice was hoarse, her throat dry. Tom reached over to the nightstand and pushed the rim of a glass of water to her lips – she gulped down the cool liquid, not realizing quite how great her thirst had been until it began to be satiated. "I feel like I have slept forever but could keep sleeping for an age longer."

"I wished for you to wake, over and over, so that I would at least know you were recovering." He smirked a little, "I even prayed, I cannot remember the last time…" He paused, shaking his head slight and moving himself closer to his wife. "It hardly seems real to see you awake again, to hear your voice –"

The baby in Tom's arms began to fuss, disturbed by his movement and Sybil's eyes fell from her husband's face to that of her daughter. She stroked the top of Lillie's head with the back of her finger; the downy hair was soft and warm. "Shhh, now," she cooed at the baby, "shhh, it's alright – everything will be alright now." Only in part to comfort the infant.

Tom lay Lillie beside Sybil and smiled weakly as the baby settled, pressed against her mother. A comfortable silence fell between them – both so grateful of the other's company.

"How has she been?" Sybil broke the quiet, her voice still cracking – a relic of her days of unconsciousness, her eyes moving up to search Tom's face again.

"You mother and grandmother got their way, in the end. A woman, one of the farmer's wives, came in to feed her." He averted his eyes from Sybil's, knowing how hurt she would be. "There wasn't really a choice, you were so ill…" He put his hand over the bundle of blankets that enveloped Lillie, pulling them down slightly to fully reveal her face.

Sybil placed her hand on top of Tom's, gently rubbing it with her thumb. "I know. I know. She needed it, it couldn't be helped." Her voice was quiet, giving away her sadness despite her brave words. It felt to her like her family were winning, that in Sybil's illness they had taken control and were beginning to steer her back to the Lady's life she had escaped – the only one they knew. The sudden removal of Lillie's dependence on her was symbolic of their need to correct the things they felt didn't fit their version of Sybil. A silent tear began a trail down her face and she tried to wipe it away quickly but Tom reached it first.

"They haven't got the better of you though." He leaned over the bed and placed a kiss on Sybil's forehead, his hands in her hair, breathing in her scent, "This is still your life, you're still the one in control – of you, of her. Don't let them beat you. Don't feel they already have." She squeezed her eyes shut to stem anymore tears, a tentative smile coming to her lips – Tom was on her side, he had protected what she wanted, what they wanted for their child. He hadn't allowed her to be coddled, as Sybil had been, by strangers. Cora, she knew had tried to do the same, but her ways had been deemed too 'American' for the daughters of an Earl and by the time Sybil was born the fight had been worn out of her, allowing her youngest to be subjected to nannies and governesses and etiquette tutors.

"Thank you." She pushed her hands over his shoulders and pulled him toward her again, burying her face in the crook of his neck.

"I've missed you, I missed you so much. I was so worried, I –" He began to cry then, his words interrupted by his sobs. "I couldn't stop thinking about what I would do if…" She silenced him with a gentle kiss on the lips, tears streaming down her own face.

"Shh, shh now." She pulled her face away from his to look him in the eye, "I'm not going anywhere. I promise." They smiled at one another, eyelids heavy with fatigue. She gently wiped away his tears with her thumb, letting her hand linger on the side of his face, cupping his cheek. "How could I when everything I could possibly want is right here?" She laced her fingers through his, his hand still resting on the warm bundle of their daughter. Both were reassured by the solid presence of the other's hand in their own, Tom began to play with Sybil's wedding band, twisting it round her finger and wondering how it had ever seemed right, to look at her hand and not see it there.

His thoughts were interrupted by a knock on the door; Tom coughed, clearing his throat before calling for them to come in. Anna entered the room quietly, a dinner tray in her hand. Tom looked up at her and then down to Sybil, Anna's eyes followed his.

"Lady Sybil," She smiled at them both, placing the tray on the dressing table. "You're awake, I'm so glad."

Sybil smiled at her, "Oh Anna – you've no idea. I feel so much better than these last few days, so much better." She reached out her hand to take Anna's and squeezed it. "Thank you, Anna, for taking care of me –" She glanced at Tom and then Lillie, " – care of all of us."

"It's my pleasure, my Lady. I'm so happy to see you looking well. Do you need anything? Anything at all?"

Sybil shook her head, "Not for now, thank you though."

Tom stroked a piece hair away from Sybil's face, barely taking his eyes off her, as if he was concerned that if he did she would fall again into her fitful slumber. Anna looked away – feeling again as if she were intruding upon an intimacy between the two of them she should not see. "I'll wait a little while before telling anyone that you've woken, to give you some time alone – the three of you."

And then she left them, in the aura of their own happiness – not to be spoilt for a while by the presence of others.

**A chapter of mega fluff, perhaps not my best – but at least Sybil is alright! Thank you for all of those sticking with this story – all the alerts and reviews keep me writing! I've no doubt I'll be back to doing this more fervently as soon as series 3 starts and Downton fever hits again! Thank you everyone. LP. x**


	22. Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Sybil began to regain her strength, slowly but improving day by day. Beginning to feed Lillie again, after being assured by Dr Clarkson her milk would no longer carry anything that could do harm, had set her back – using extra energy her body still didn't quite have to spare. But she longed to feel the closeness again, to look down at her daughter's face as she suckled and imagine the life she had ahead of her. It broke her heart to see the hired nursemaid cradle Lillie and be the one to provide her with all she needed. She jumped at the chance to return to nursing – much to the apparent confusion of her mother and grandmother, who had always regarded Sybil's decision to nurse her baby herself as being somewhat uncouth and now the baby had learned to settle at another woman's breast it seemed even more ridiculous to them.

But nursing Lillie again made Sybil feel like she had a purpose again. Those days confined to bed, still considered to weak to do anything had taken her back to those awful days at the end of the war when everyone else had heralded a return to the way things were – she had felt like there was a sea monster, forever lurking to pull her under, to a suffocating life she had glimpsed freedom from. Tom had been her liberator then and this time, from her numb hours spent gazing into space in bed, it was Lillie and her searching, hungry little mouth.

It was nearly two weeks since she had fallen ill before she would leave her bed, venturing down into the main rooms of the house for a few hours to eat lunch with her sisters. She became quite used to receiving visitors while still in bed, Lillie nestled against her. She taught Edith to knit and soon the baby had quite the collection of slightly untidy bonnets and mittens and a cardigan with one arm longer than the other. Mary would bring her books and regale her with stories of society and wedding plans. Even her grandmother would make the occasional visit to coo over the baby and share her gossip. And Tom, Tom was her near constant companion – by her side but for the hours her sisters or mother were with her, when he would disappear into his study and write pages of articles, which he would send off every other day to Dublin in the first post.

As Mary's wedding date drew closer Sybil gradually grew stronger and braver, more confident in her own stamina. Mrs Patmore disobeyed orders and ensured the breakfast and dinner trays sent up to Sybil were laden with food, enough to meet the demands of a body recovering and rebuilding whilst providing sustenance to a hungry, growing infant. She blamed that 'damned milk jelly' for Sybil's sickness, 'I knew she needed more than that, if I'd had my way none of this dreadful business would ever have happened.'

On the first truly autumnal day of the year, Tom appeared in the dining room just as she and Edith finished their lunch. Mary was at yet another dress fitting with their Mama and Lord Grantham was in London. Edith smiled at Tom as he hovered in the doorway as if she had been expecting him. She stood and took Lillie, recently fed and now sleeping soundly, from Sybil's arms, cradling her against her own chest and allowing her tiny hand to wrap around a finger.

Edith raised an eyebrow and smiled knowingly at Sybil, "You have somewhere to be, Mrs Branson." She had a twinkle in her eye as she took Sybil's hand and led her over to Tom. "I'll take care of her for a little while – she'll be fine with me."

It was only then that Sybil noticed Tom had a coat, one of the elaborate lightweight coats she hadn't had any need to wear since before the war, folded neatly over his arm and a grin on his face that meant he was hiding something. He took her hand and led her to the front door before placing the coat around her shoulders and gently untucking her hair, still loose down her back – it seemed pointless to bother with it when no one would see her and she would soon return to bed anyway, from the collar. He placed a kiss on her cheek before opening the door for her, acting out an exaggerated footman, bowing comically with a twinkle in his eye. They laced their fingers together and Sybil allowed herself to be led through the gardens, along the edge of the lake and under the shade of the trees, their leaves just beginning to turn golden around the edges.

He was due to leave for Ireland the next day, a fact both of them had been ignoring – it was an unwanted certainty that he had to go back, but he had managed to fit in all he would need to do in less than a week. Sybil knew he was trying to be absent for as little time as possible, for her, for Lillie – the journeys there and back would take almost as long, he would be exhausted and it would be costly, but it could not be avoided. Neither could bear to think of it though, no matter how short the separation – time apart was hard to fathom after so long fighting for time together.

"Where…"Sybil turned to Tom as they crossed the path, heading away from the ornamental gardens, "What are you up to Tom Branson?" She raised one eyebrow at him and smiled as he put a finger to his lips. It wasn't long before she could guess at their destination – he seemed to be taking her on a circuitous route to put her off the scent. "Are we…are you taking me to the garage?"

"Perhaps." He squeezed her hand and turned, walking backwards in front of her, "You will just need to be patient and wait and see." He smiled then, a wide, relaxed smile that she hadn't seen in a while – kept at bay by worry and fatigue and being on edge in Downton, where he felt he belonged neither up or downstairs. He dropped back again to walk beside her, his hand in hers, both a guide and a connection. They were silent, taking in the surroundings – how green everything was after all of the sun and the rain that had followed, the storms of late summer that take away the unsettling veil of humidity. It felt a little odd to suddenly be just two again, after the near constant presence of others in recent weeks - Lillie in the private hours of early mornings and late evenings, Anna and her sisters and her mother otherwise.

"Do you remember what today is?" Tom paused, as the arrived outside the little building that had been the safe house for the early months of first, their illicit friendship and then the love that followed. He searched her face, knowing that in the last hectic few weeks it was unlikely to have dawned on her – not that he could blame her, it was hard to keep track of the days passing through her recovery, Lillie's relentless hunger, nights of broken sleep. It was only when he took her left hand in both of his and began to twist her wedding ring around her finger that she remembered, it showed all over her face – a little gasp, a smile and then a look that was pure frustration at herself, at her own forgetfulness.

"Oh Tom," She placed her other hand over his then, looked down at their fingers laced together, she gently shook her head. "How could I forget? I'm so sorry, I don't know how –" He silenced her by pressing his lips to hers, the kiss stealing her words.

"Hush now, hush." For a moment they were frozen, eyes locked on each other and his hand gently cupping her face, framed by the doors of the garage. "I think you've had quite enough to deal with that you can be forgiven." He smirked slightly, a smile which she loved, it reassured her. "I think you've earned a little treat – a little trip down memory lane for you." He saw a brief look of concern cross her face when her opened the door to the garage to reveal the car, shining in all of its glory and a basket on the sideboard, neatly topped with a blanket. "Don't worry – the new chauffeur is with your mother and Mary in the other car, we'll be back before anyone notices it is gone. And Edith is in on it, she'll say it was her going for a drive if anyone suspects anything." The look still didn't dissipate and he knew what the cause of her worry was. "She'll be fine with Edith. We won't be gone long."

She smiled up at him, "I know it's silly." He shook his head, wanting her to know that it wasn't silly at all and that he had thought of it, that this had all in reality been planned around Lillie, around the times a lack of her mother's presence would be of no distress to her. Sybil continued to speak before he could stress this, "She'll probably sleep the whole time and not know I am gone." This made her laugh a little and the worries were suddenly gone – she turned her attention to the car, to Tom and the promise of a few hours of togetherness. Suddenly she seemed almost playful, "So where are you whisking me away to Mr Branson?"

He smiled, relieved at how relaxed she suddenly seemed. "Just a little drive out somewhere." He stopped for a moment and added tongue in cheek, "M'lady."

He walked over to the car and went to open the back door, but she caught his hand on handle. "I think I should like to sit up front, next to you." He helped her up into the seat at the front of the car, to the left of the steering wheel, before loading the basket in the back. He climbed back into the familiar seat, but was struck, as they pulled away from the garage, by the feeling of being in new territory. The last time they had been alone together in this car and he had been driving he wasn't even sure if the family knew of their budding romance yet, Mary and Edith had done their best to prevent such a scenario following Scotland. It was hard to believe how far they had come.

They wound their way along the country roads; through back lanes and across bridges that seemed simultaneously familiar and so distant from their lives. Sybil's hand – not gloved he noted – was resting on his knee and her hair, completely free of its usual twists and pins, was being caught by the wind that passed through the cab, appearing to dance in mid air. She smiled and laughed as she struggled to keep it from covering her face. She would occasionally throw her left hand out of the open side of the car, exhilarated by the feeling of moving as such speed. He wondered how long she had been wanting to do that, how long she had wanted to laugh and be taken along by the thrill of the ride, but had been unable to give in to it, confined by the chains of being 'ladylike.' It suited her, this sort of freedom and the joy that showed on her face reassured him, he had done the right thing taking her away from that life and into his, producing something all of their own.

They parked just off a road, which had wound up a hill for sometime, taking them to the peak but obscuring the view on the other side. He retrieved the basket and blanket from the back of the car and helped her down from the car; together they completed the ascent – walking a hundred yards or so to the shade of a tree. Sybil gasped as they crested the hill and the view it provided painted itself before them. Fields could be seen for miles around, right over to the horizon, punctuated occasionally by clusters of buildings that made up villages. Downton could be seen to their left, the Abbey itself and it's associated buildings could been seen a mile or so along from the village and the edge of Ripon could be seen in the distance. She turned to him, face slightly agast, mouth open. "How long have you known about this place?"

"You don't know about it?" Sybil shook her head; eyes wide taking everything in. "You mean your father never brought you up here to survey his kingdom?" He thought for a moment that Sybil's silence following this comment meant he had over stepped the mark, but she began to giggle at him, shaking her head.

"'One day my girl'" She put on a voice which sounded eerily like her father's, "'All this will be yours.' Or at least that of whoever they planned to 'encourage' Mary onto." She looked at him then, dragging her eyes away from everything before her. "How did you come across it? In someways I can't believe I've never seen it in the distance and thought to explore…"

This had struck Tom too. He thought that if his childhood had been spent here, surrounded by all the beauty of nature he would perhaps have thought to go and roam – to see what he could chance across. But then he supposed reality is different and Sybil's childhood had been so different to his own. He had had infinite freedom, surrounded by the suffocating bustle of a city and there had been Sybil, with open space on all sides, penned in by a title with so much to explore but never a chance to do it. A consistent finding, he had come to realise over time that despite all the prettiness and finery by which she had been surrounded, Sybil's like had held little more freedom than any servant's, even Daisy's. She had reveled in the sudden liberty, from the minute the train drew away from Downton in the early summer of the previous year, that being by his side had brought.

He laid the blanket on the grass and helped Sybil down to settle on it, the sun on her face radiating warmth and the feeling of well being through her. He unpacked the basket, some sandwiches and a half a pork pie and some apples and a few other bits he had managed to talk Mrs Patmore into giving him, and arranged it around them. She caught his hand as he went to close the now empty basket, "Thank you, Tom." She drew his eyes to hers, "For everything. For this last year, all of it," a smile played on her lips, "you've given me everything you promised, and so so much more. I have never been close to being as happy as I am now. This whole year, when I think of it now, it seems like a dream." Her voice began to crack slightly with emotion, "And I'm just so happy when I wake up every morning with you beside me to realise it is real – not a dream at all."

He opened his mouth to speak, but no response he could form in his head seemed enough. He pulled her to him, holding her close to him and feeling her arms snake around him, clutching at his shoulders. He kissed her temple and spoke, his lips brushing against her skin, "I love you. So much, with every single part of me."

They spent a languid hour or so enjoying the solitude, one another's company and the feeling that they had won the fight to be together. One year into the marriage, which once even the thought of seemed too much, too ambitious, they felt as if they had proved people wrong. Proved that this was right. Even Mrs Branson, who had in recent months become such an ally, had thought them foolish. That didn't even begin to touch on the Crawley's feelings toward their union.

It seemed appropriate somehow that it was the product of this union that put an end to their time together, in front of that wonderful panorama, giddy with a shared contentment. Just as the sun began to change its light, from the bright sharpness of midday to the glow of the late afternoon, Sybil had blushed slightly, sighing as her blouse began to stain.

"We best go back, she'll be hungry soon. I'm sorry, this has been so, so lovely."

"Who am I to deny her of her dinner?" He kissed her on the forehead and began to gather up the remnants of their meal. He helped Sybil into the car again, allowed her to kiss him before he shut the door, a slow lingering kiss that made his heart flutter and he remembered how their first kiss as a married couple, a year ago to the day, had done exactly the same.

The following morning Tom woke before Sybil or Lillie had stirred for the baby's early feed. It was the first time his exhaustion, from the time spent at Sybil's bedside in her illness and his snatched hours trying to do a days work, had allowed him to wake naturally. Lillie's cries normally woke him and Sybil simultaneously in the half hour following dawn. But this morning the sun was only just coming up, the bed bathed in a soft, golden light. It caught Sybil's hair, picking up flecks of bronze. She was on her back, her face turned toward the window; her arm was bent so that her hand was next to it, her fingers just brushing her nose.

He remembered that first time he had woken up beside her in bed, the morning after the wedding, in the then unfamiliar bedroom in the house, their house, in Dublin. The eiderdown had fallen to the floor, kicked off by one or both of them in the heat and the sheet had fallen to her waist revealing the creamy skin of her breasts. There she lay before him as his wife, he as her husband. He had taken in the moment still in awe of the previous few days, a whirlwind of things to do and people to see, to talk to and places to visit. And then everything was settled. He had wondered if every morning he woke to see her sleeping would be like that. And suddenly there he was, exactly a year later feeling every bit as bowled over by his wife, his best friend, the mother of his child, as he had been on that day. It brought a lingering smile to his lips and suddenly he wanted, needed her to be awake. To take advantage of every remaining moment of this last morning with her, beyond which lay a succession of mornings he knew he would wake feeling bereft and lonely in an empty bed. He woke her by gently pressing his lips to her cheek and gently tickling the palm of her outstretched hand. She stirred without flinching, her eyes flicked open and her mouth formed a smile as she turned to see Tom's face before her.

"Good morning," Her voice was still hoarse with sleep, but her eyes were already twinkling. She lifted her head from the pillow slightly, listening careful to the sounds of the room. The silence seemed wrong somehow, waking without the sound of the baby in her cradle near the window beginning to fuss, her belly empty. Satisfied by the even sounds of a sleeping infant she settled back into the pillow, her eyes once again on her husband's face and pulled the sheets up around her shoulders. "What a lovely way to be woken." He tucked a piece of her hair behind her ear and placed a kiss on her lips. A thoughtful moment passed between them. "I'll miss this so much when you are gone." He slipped an arm around her waist and pulled her toward him, their bodies fitting around each other with familiarity. They lay there like that for a while, enjoying the presence of the other, the feeling of skin on skin and the warmth it brought, until Lillie began the whimpering which came from waking and realizing she was hungry. It was Tom who fetched her and delivered her to her mother, before watching still mesmerized by the sight of his wife feeding their child. The perfection of it. And once more he was struck by the feeling of being the luckiest man on earth.

As Tom left, turning in the back of the car to look at them for as long as possible, Sybil felt her heart drop. Mary's arm fell around her waist and pulled her into her side and Sybil laid her head on her eldest sister's shoulder.

"He'll be back before you know it Sybil." Mary smoothed down the hair on the top of Sybil's head, curls springing loose from their pins, "It won't be as hard as it feels right now. I promise."

As the car turned around a corner, trees blocking it from view from the house, Sybil sighed and the sisters turned toward the door. She exchanged a weak smile with her mother, who held out her hand and led them inside.

Sybil settled in the chair in their bedroom to feed Lillie and was painfully aware of his absence. His smell still lingered, a few items of clothing were neatly folded in a pile on the stool to the dressing table – things he had decided to leave behind at the last minute. The sheets on the bed were still pulled back and crumpled, as they had left them that morning on climbing, somewhat reluctantly, out of their cocoon. And God, how looking down at Lillie so reminded her of him, even as a small infant the curve of her cheek, the shape of her eyes, the way she scrunched her face in frustration were so familiar to Sybil – almost identical to her husband's.

There was the sound of scratching at the door, a slight rustling even and it opened a few inches. Isis' nose appeared around the door and she padded over to Sybil, settling around her feet. The dog's solidity and warmth was somehow a comfort – as if she knew, in all her canine intelligence, that this was exactly what Sybil needed. She heard her sisters laughing together, walking down the corridor to her room, to wile away a few idle hours before dinner. Lillie opened her eyes then and looked up at her mother, and suddenly Sybil was filled with a sense of not being alone at all despite the heavy relic within her heart of Tom's absence. But still she began a secret countdown to his return and the commencement of another year together.

**A bit of a mammoth chapter! I probably could have split this a bit, but I just started and couldn't stop. Please let me know what you think and know how much I appreciate all of your views and alerts and reviews. Hope you like it! LP. x**


	23. Chapter 23

Chapter 23

September 1920

Francis met him at the docks, he hadn't been expecting any sort of reception, but there his youngest brother was leaning on a pillar on the city side of the customs and immigration offices. It made him anxious.

"Frankie?"

"I'm not here on Ma's business Tommy – before you worry. No one is hurt or ill." Frankie took his brother's case from him and they both turned to begin the walk in the direction of the streets they called home. "But I wanted to speak to you before you got home, before you saw Mam – or Joe."

"Joe." Tom's tone was low, full of dread – almost knowing what was to come.

"Joe." Francis repeated, taking a breath. "Máire is, we are worried about him. She wonders if you could have a word."

"What's he up to this time?"

"He's got back in with Sean and Jim. She's worried that they're up to something –" he paused, "well, something stupid. That's going to get them all in trouble."

Sean and James Finnerty were ardent Republicans and it was a widely known 'secret' that they were in deep with the extremist end of Ireland's politics. If it had been them, and not Tom, a few feet from the General in Downton's dining rooms the soup tureen would have held more than some cow shit. A loaded pistol for the General at best, at worst poison to get them all. Joe had grown up with them, his friends first in school and then in the factory and for a while, the months preceding and following his marriage to Máire, the three of them had landed themselves in trouble. Peggy Branson had been driven to wits end, waking in the middle of the night from dreams, which haunted her through the entirety of the next day. But the birth of his first child and a stern talking to from their Pa had seemed to mellow Joe and as far as they all know he had had little to do with Sean and Jim for years, before Tom had left for England. But the end of the war had brought the fight for independence back to the forefront in Ireland, reuniting many with their politics and tensions were rising again.

"And Ma knows none of it?" Tom put a hand to his forehead, massaging his temples.

"She's heard talk, but we've been doing our best to convince her it is only rumour." He stopped and turned to face Tom. "Mal and Pa have tried Tommy, but you know what he thinks of them. Not worth listening to." Joe had long been frustrated by his father and closest brother Malachy, they were political to a degree but he saw their 'lack of action' as some sort of surrender to the British. Tom's expression of his views, though more literary than anything else, at least showed he had a true political stance and in Joe's eyes that deserved respect.

"I'll do my best, Frankie, I will try. I had no idea all of this was happening again. I'm not sure I'll do much good – but it cannot hurt to try."

They walked beside each other then, brothers so unalike but alike all at once. They talked about their father and his health, their mother, their siblings. Tom asked after his cousin Liam's widow, his children. Francis' work. The neighborhood. The company shortened the walk mutually and before long Tom was making his way up the familiar street – it seemed much longer than a few months since he and Sybil had left it, as two then, not yet three.

They stood on the step to the house and Francis turned to Tom, the serious look on his face suddenly transformed to something of mischief. "Now, I warn you – Ma is going to sit you in that kitchen until you have told her every little detail about that baby. Since you sent that letter, telling her she was born she hasn't stopped talking about her, everybody within ten streets of here knows that you're a Da. You'd think no one ever had babies around here…" Tom smiled as Francis trailed off as he pushed his way through the door. Pride blossomed in his chest, thinking of the little girl in her cradle all those miles away.

May 1919

_On their first meeting Sybil was struck by how different the Mrs Branson of reality was to the Mrs Branson that she had conjured in her head. The only older women who weren't gentry Sybil had known were Mrs Patmore and Mrs Hughes and so she imagined Tom's mother to be an amalgam of the two; short and stout, her body altered from carrying many children. The woman who answered their knock on the door was younger than Sybil had expected; she knew the eldest of Tom's siblings was, at 3 years older than he was, thirty-two - thus the imagined Mrs Branson was approaching sixty, silver haired and lined with age. The woman that stood before her didn't look a day over fifty; her hair, but for an occasional silver strand, was auburn and a smattering of freckles gave her face the look of youth. She had obviously been very pretty as a young woman and in Sybil's opinion still was; age, though barely leaving its mark, suited her. _

_ "Oh Tommy," she embraced her son immediately, stepping out of the house and onto the step. Level with Tom it was obvious that the only characteristic Sybil had been right about was Mrs Branson's diminutive stature; she was more than a head shorter than her son. _

_ "Ma, it's so good to see you." In the six years since he had seen his mother so much had changed, in the world as a whole and in each of them individually. She drew him back, holding him at arms length and examined him. He had filled out a bit as young men tended to, he seemed broader and though it was impossible, he was already grown when he left, seemed taller. He had a couple of laughter lines around his eyes she didn't remember and these made him look even more remarkably like his father. His eyes sparkled – he was happy. _

_ Tom moved slightly to one side and Mrs Branson let her eyes fall behind him to Sybil. She had expected the woman her son had fallen for to be blonde, based on the girls he had been sweet on as a young lad. She was pretty too, that was for sure – milky skinned with delicate features. What struck her most was how __young__ she looked. Certainly younger than the twenty-one years she believed her to be. She found herself hoping to God that Tommy hadn't been lying – that she was of age. _

_ "Ma," Tom stepped back so that Sybil was stood directly in front of his mother, "This is Sybil, Sybil Crawley." Thank God, Peggy found herself thinking, he didn't introduce her as 'Lady' - she wasn't sure she'd have been able to cope with that. _

_ "Sybil," she tried to put on her best smile – hoping it was convincing enough to make the poor girl feel somewhat welcome. Foolish as she found all of this, Tommy looked happy and sounded serious about it all in his letters, and the fine featured little thing that stood before her looked petrified. She could pretend for a while, she could hope that they warmed to one another. "I'm so glad you both arrived safely." She clasped her hand around Sybil's, she felt the softness of the leather of her gloves, and led her in to the hallway. Sybil responded politely as she took her coat and folded it over the bench in the hallway, Meg appeared at the kitchen door and audibly gasped as she looked at Sybil and the coat in her mother's hands. _

_ "Meg!" It was Tom, just turned from closing the door behind him, who introduced his youngest sister first. He slipped past his mother and Sybil and enveloped the girl in a hug; she was still silent as he took in her face. "My God, you're like a young lady now. Where's the six year old who waved me off at the docks, a dolly in her hand?" Meg smiled politely at Tom, slightly overcome by shyness. Tom sensed it, and covered his sadness by turning to Sybil and making introductions. "Sybil, this is Meg, my baby sister. Although, not so much of a baby anymore I suppose." _

_ Peggy Branson filled the kettle, wanting to do something with her hands in this state of slight nervousness – tea would settle them all. The kitchen, though containing far fewer people than it usually did, seemed cramped and claustrophobic when Mrs Branson viewed it through Sybil's eyes. Meg had settled in a chair by the stove, a knitting bag on her lap. The table was covered in the beginnings of that night's dinner and an apple pie sat on the draining board, waiting for the stove to be stoked. There was a large pram parked across the open door, which led out onto a yard – little more than a few brick walls and the privy, but better than nothing. The pram contained a baby, perhaps two years old, with white blonde curls and a toothy grin. _

_ Peggy saw Tom raise his eyebrows at the pram and slapped him on the arm in jest, as she moved over to the stove, putting the kettle over the heat "Oh Thomas Branson, don't you let your thoughts go, my childbearing days are long gone. This is Bridget's youngest." _

_ Sybil felt suddenly floundering, names were mentioned that she recognized only from Tom's fleeting mentions in the past. She found herself fighting to remember who everyone was. Mrs Branson saw it in her face, the confusion, the look of being utterly lost. _

_ "My youngest four are at home still, Meg who you've met," Peggy nodded at her youngest daughter who was struggling with casting on, the beginning of the scarf she was knitting looking less successful by the second, "The others are all at work. You'll have to share a room with the girls, but you can have the little bed, Nora's bed on your own. They don't mind sharing, Kathleen and Meg are used to it anyway." Sybil had never really considered how her stay would affect the others in the house before; she felt a pang of guilt as she realized she would be forcing someone out of their own bed for the forthcoming months. Extra guests at Downton had never meant anything of the sort, one of the other bedrooms was merely made up and the family continued to sleep in their own rooms as was usual. "My older boys, the two older than Tom are both married and live close by and Bridget, my eldest girl, is the same, though she's alone now with her little ones." Peggy didn't need to say why, instinctively Sybil knew it was the war, "So you'll see her often enough. She leaves little Michael with me most days, while she's at work and her other boys are at school." The baby in the pram began chatting to himself, as though taking his cue from his grandmother, as if he knew he was the subject of their conversation. _

_ The way she had said 'my youngest four' so casually had, of all things, made Sybil remember how far removed from her upbringing Tom's had been. The realization that Tom was one of eight, __eight__, had shocked her. Eight children in such a little house. And there she, Mary and Edith had been, practically drowning in rooms and space – just the three of them. And here in this house eight children and their parents had once been piled into three bedrooms. Here, in this neighbourhood as well as this house – this family - it seemed babies came and were dealt with and caused little impact on the lives of everyone else. Lives continued as before – there was no desperate hoping for a boy, no need for an heir; a son did not mean a sudden relieving of tension nor an end to a woman's bearing of children. Whereas in Downton, in that society, the announcement of an impending birth meant time stopped in the house as everyone hoped for a boy and regardless of its' sex the resulting infant brought about upheaval. It was indulged and staff were hired to care for it – change would reach every corner of the house. It seemed absurd then, to Sybil, that the mothers she had known had done the complete opposite of what their bodies told them – they handed their child to another woman to feed and care for, ignoring their swollen breasts and maternal instincts to nurture their child themselves. That lives changed so much and so little in parallel, women returned to their lives as they had been before whilst their household changed dramatically to care for the new member of the family. _

_ She was drawn from her thoughts by the sound of Michael dropping the wooden spinning top he had been gnawing on from the height of the pram. Mrs Branson gathered her skirts and approached Michael, pulling him onto her hip and smoothing back his curls. He rested his head in the base of her neck and shoved his thumb in his mouth, clutching at the material of his grandmother's bodice with his other fist. "Sit down the two of you, while the kettle boils." She filled a teapot - taken from the top shelf of the cupboard Sybil noticed, clearly a special occasion item – with tea leaves and lay out a number of cups. She was deft with one hand, experience gained from years spent in a kitchen with a child on her hip. Tom pulled out a chair for Sybil to sit down on and settled next to her at the table. Mrs Branson lowered herself into the chair next to Tom and placed a tin in the middle of the table, lifting the lid to reveal half a cake and some biscuits. _

_When they sat side-by-side Sybil was struck that Tom appeared to have little of Mrs Branson in him; their hair, skin and build were all different. If it weren't for the eyes, which were strikingly similar, Sybil would have doubted they were mother and son at all. They sat for a little while, making small talk; the crossing, the weather, how glad they were to see the beginning of summer. A silence fell then, broken after a while by Mrs Branson realizing the awkward feel of the room, "Now Tommy, get that teapot filled and let Sybil tell me all about herself." Tom got up, dutifully and set about his mother's demands. "I understand you have sisters too my dear?" And somehow, the warmth of the tea melted the iciness of the room. _

_ "If the world continues to change as it seems to be going," Tom unconsciously ran his fingers over the wrought iron arm of the bench, "my mother could have been a great woman had she had the luck to be born 50 or so years after she was – a trailblazer I suspect." It was four o'clock and Mrs Branson had ushered them out of the house for a while, out from under her feet while she made dinner. They were in the park and Tom was answering Sybil's questions about his mother – the ones Mrs Branson had herself brushed away, inquiring more about Sybil. "She was offered a job as a secretary of sorts, a few years after she finished school. Working for the British mind, her Da wasn't keen on that," he paused, as if wary of what he had said, remembering his company, "but it was respectable and good money and it would have got her places." _

_ "What happened?" _

_ Tom turned to Sybil, a smirk on his face. "Joseph. My eldest brother. And a rather rushed wedding." _

_ "Oh…" She didn't quite know what to say, but Tom continued and Sybil's thoughts began to race. _

"_A prisoner in her own time I think, a mind much too sharp and ambitious to have married and begun a family at the age she did." His eyes met Sybil's then, "She was sixteen then, barely an adult herself, only a year older than Kathleen, and had four children by the time she was your age. Can you imagine?" He took Sybil's hand then, squeezing it tight in his own. _

_ "She probably looks at me, having spent all of her days working hard and caring for other people and wonders what on earth I have done with my life, what makes me a good enough wife for her son? I can't juggle a baby and a stove and tea, all the while teaching someone to knit and holding a conversation. What must she think of me? In such frivolous clothes! I shouldn't have worn this coat, I could almost hear her thinking how useless this would be in winter."_

_ Tom couldn't help but chuckle, leaving Sybil staring at him like he was mad. He saw the look on her face and shook his head, "I'm sorry, it just seems so odd that only last week it was you trying to convince your father, to convince me even, that I was good enough for you. And now, with just a trip over an ocean, the situation has flipped." He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it, keeping it just below his lips as he continued, "Don't you ever think anyone is judging you, thinking you won't be 'good enough' or 'practical enough' or any of that. You have my heart and I have yours and that above all is what matters. Anyway, what does it matter about those things? Why suddenly, now we're in Ireland do you think that is what I'm suddenly expecting you to become?" _

_ She moved closer to him on the bench, lifting his arm and settling herself against his chest holding his hand against her face. She broke the comfortable silence. "You're not expecting…I'd never thought before, not really…" She fidgeted; suddenly shy of the conversation but needing to say what was troubling her. He turned her back to face him then, but she kept her eyes firmly on her hands in her lap. The colour rose in her face. "There's just so many of you. Eight." Suddenly she met his eyes, the sincere look of worry on his face bringing her courage to continue. "I suppose I want to know, from the onset, is that what you want too?" _

_ He raised his eyebrows, took a breath. "I should think that is down to you – as I am not the one who gets the rum deal in bringing babies into the world." He began to smile, but saw the serious look on Sybil's face and did his best to suppress it and took her hand in his, playing with her fingers. "I was rather hoping for one or two, but I'm not expecting to be as prolific as my parents. I know there is more to you, to your life and what you want from it, what I want from it for you, than churning out a baby year upon year and being bound to them and a house." He kissed her temple, feeling the soft skin on his lips. "Bridget wanted that life, a husband and a house and a whole gaggle of children, and did her best to get it but hasn't ended up with it, but I understand that for my Ma, that's not what she had in mind, but got it anyway. I want you to be able to choose for yourself. And whatever happens, you'll always have me fighting your corner." _

_ The love Sybil felt in that moment was overwhelming, more than she ever felt possible. He respected her, wanted what was best for her and wanted her to have opinions and choices all of her own. If she had ever had any doubts that she would be happy for the rest of her life with Tom Branson, they were dispelled there and then. He had really meant what he had said about devoting himself to her happiness. _

_ Dinner that evening was like nothing Sybil had experienced before. As promised Bridget had appeared half an hour before dinner was due to be served, two boys in tow - twins of about seven. Tom embraced his sister, his double but for a slightness in her features and she, in an almost exact replication of his mother's actions, held him at a distance studying his face with one hand resting on his cheek before seeming to be satisfied and pulling him back towards her. _

_ "Oh Tommy, we've missed you so much." Her voice cracked with emotion, clearly the two of them had been close – Sybil knew from Tom's briefing on his family that Bridget was next in line, born a mere ten months after Tom they were true Irish twins. She thought it odd that she had not been mentioned in the past, the way they were interacting, the look in Bridget's eyes made Sybil believe that of all his siblings, Bridget had been the one Tom had missed the most. He pulled back from her and introduced his sister in much the same way he had introduced Sybil to Mrs Branson, the reaction she received though was entirely different. A warm smile came to Bridget's face, lighting up her features again and she embraced Sybil. "It is so lovely to meet you – finally put a face to a name. I've known for years, from his letters, that Tommy was sweet on a girl. I was hardly surprised when he finally let us in on it! Who you were though, that was a bit of a shock." She held Sybils hand in hers; her face reassured Sybil that the shock had, in Bridget's eyes at least, not been an unpleasant one. She turned to her brother; the same mischievous twinkle in her eyes that Sybil had seen on Tom's face many times. "He always was one to shoot above his station, looks like it finally paid off Tommy!" She pinched him lightly on the arm with her free hand and Tom responded by pulling a face, like a child being teased. _

_ Sybil felt colour come to her cheeks, slightly embarrassed, though she wasn't sure who or what for. "It's lovely to meet you to Bridget, so lovely to meet all of you." Suddenly, surrounded by Tom's family, Sybil was very aware of her accent, the words she chose, she sounded so…__English__. _

_ Bridget was intuitive, sensing Sybil's self consciousness and squeezed her hand, "Don't worry about the rest of them. They are bound to use you as a source of fun, but don't think it is just you or who you are or where you are from. My Patrick," she paused, looking to Tom, "they were the same with him, even Ma, and he had lived three streets away all his life." He tone was sad when discussing her husband; the wounds of losing him were obviously still fairly raw. She became lost in herself then, eyes unfocussed as her own thoughts overcame her. She was pulled back to reality by a wordless shout from Michael, still in his pram, clearly wondering why he was not the centre of his mother's attention. Sybil felt the thrill of acceptance spread through her and smiled at Tom as he took hold of her hands, partially hidden by her skirts, and squeezed it. Everything would be okay now, somehow she knew it. _

September 1920

His conversation with Joe wouldn't go to plan. Tom could see that in his brother's eyes as he looked at him across the dinner table – every glance that Joe threw across Tom was cold, not a good position to start such a confrontation from. But he had to try. Joe looked tired, consumed with something and paid little attention as his girls tried to pull themselves on to his knee after dinner, instead he rose wordlessly from the table and outside into the cold air beyond the kitchen door. Instead Tom pulled them on to his own knee, bouncing them up and down until they giggled – trying to imagine if this was how Lillie would be in a few years, all flushed cheeks and curls and kisses sticky with pudding.

After he helped his mother clear the table Tom went out into the yard and found Joe sat on a bit of brickwork half way down the path to the privy, the end of a lit cigarette marking him out against the darkness. Joe exhaled as Tom settled down next to him, the smoke filled Tom's lungs – it caused some deeply hidden craving to remerge, he couldn't remember the last time he had enjoyed a cigarette. Before Sybil certainly, perhaps before Downton even. Realizing he would have to stand and smoke outside with O'Brien and Thomas was enough to put anyone off any habit. But now, in his Ma's backyard and with Joe it seemed almost bizarre not to engage in the theatre of rolling and lighting and gently filling his lungs, feeling the tension lift from him as he released the smoke into the air. The hours they had spent there, hiding their habit from their mother for a while, before they realized she knew anyway from the way their laundry stank, the smell of nicotine clinging to every fibre of their clothes.

Joe barely looked up at him, staring straight ahead at the wall that separated them from next door. "I suppose you have been summoned, to share your wisdom, to tell me to stop giving Máire reason to worry. Pa and Mal have already tried, and Frankie even. I'll tell you the same as I told them; I'm not doing anything untoward. Nothing that I should be ashamed of." He continued to stare ahead and passed Tom the cigarette, not rolled tight enough and already burned three quarters of the way down. Tom pressed it between his index finger and thumb and took a slow drag, barely inhaling, not quite knowing if his lungs could take it any more – after all this time. The taste was acrid, so unlike he remembered and he passed the remainder back to his brother.

"Jim and Sean are never up to anything they would be ashamed of, doesn't mean their mother wouldn't be." He let the smoke out of his mouth, glad to let it go, wishing he hadn't bothered. "Think of Máire, Joe. Think of her at least, is it worth it, to risk leaving her with three children without you because you've got yourself locked up somewhere, or killed?"

"Hark at you Tommy, hark at you." Joe looked at him for the first time, his eyes were fierce, his mouth serious. "You weren't like this before. Before you went off to that bloody place you would be on my side, not against me. Before Sybil got you. Sybil and her parents, they represent everything you hated. Everything you wanted to fight against."

"Don't bring Sybil into this Joe. And don't generalize her – or her parents. She cannot help where or how she was born, no more than we can. And her parents aren't bad people –" Joe suddenly rose to his feet.

"How can you defend them?" His voice was angry, he threw the butt at the floor and stamped it out with his toe. "After all they have said about you, all they have done? You know as well as I that they don't think you good enough – an Irish pauper not suitable for a daughter of theirs. They don't think any of us are bloody good enough. The English are all the same when it comes to us Tom, we're second rate in their eyes – animals, less than animals even. It's alright for you, you can run off back to your cushy little life with the in laws when Ireland is fighting for itself, crushed under their oppression, you pretend to be English – with your English wife and – hell, Tom – your English baby and never have to worry again. You left, you betrayed your country." It hit Tom like a tonne of bricks; he no longer held Joe's trust. He was in the same category as Mal and Pa now, not worth listening to with regard to politics. Joe saw Tom's retreat, his return to England as a betrayal. Anger rose in Tom then, building in his belly like a fire. He stood, leveling himself with Joe, staring him in the face.

"Just because I married Sybil, it doesn't mean I don't understand still Joe. Don't think I don't see it – because I do, I see it every day. Don't you think I am reminded everyday of how much they don't approve? Those months she sobbed every day because he was petty enough not to write, to ignore her – his own daughter. But that doesn't mean he is responsible for all of this – don't use him and your representation of all things English. And don't you dare bring Sybil and Lillie into it – she gave it up, that life of bloody riley, she's here to be with me and raise our daughter in Ireland, endangering herself whenever she is around the likes of Jimmy and Sean Finnerty – and now you if Frankie is to be believed." Tom turned to go back into the house, not trusting himself to remain calm, "But don't you see that if you sink to that level - if you run around with guns and intent to harm, kill even – you are no better than those that killed Liam? It's tit for tat then and how is that going to get us anywhere? There are other ways to make the point Joe, but if you want to run around with the Finnertys seeking revenge, telling yourself you are Ireland's salvation – do it. But remember that you risk getting yourself killed in the process. Think of what you'll be leaving behind."

"I would rather die for the cause, for Ireland, that sit around writing petty articles in newspapers – whatever is that going to do Tommy? No one is going to listen to those words – they will only respond to force."

Tom stormed back through the kitchen door, his blood boiling. Peggy Branson was still at the sink and she looked up when he came in, seeing the redness in his face and the stiff set of his jaw. "Tommy?"

"I'm fine Ma, it's fine." He kissed her cheek and squeezed her arm, attempting to reassure himself as much as her. "I best go – thank you for dinner."

He was out in the street, wrapping his scarf around his neck before his mother could say he goodbyes. Joe's words, his use of Sybil and Lillie to spark Tom's emotions and that word betrayal, played over and over in his mind – tormenting him endlessly even as he fought to sleep that night. They had lost him to it, Tom knew then, there would be no getting Joe back now, and he was in out of his depth this time. He was a revolutionary now, with only one thought in his mind. Death was the only thing that would stop him. Martyrdom was what Joe had in mind for himself no matter what the expense to those around him. Tom sobbed that night as he thought of Máire and Joe and their three children, their youngest boy barely older than Michael, only just turned two. Suddenly Tom wanted Sybil and Lillie there in the house in Dublin with him, to touch, to feel the solidity of their breathing, to make sure they were safe. Only the thought of them enveloped in the warmth and isolation of Downton and the safety it brought reassured him enough that he could close his eyes and give in to sleep.

**I realize that the age Mrs Branson married at in chapter 15 is different to in this chapter, but I'm changing it for now – incase anyone is eagle eyed enough to notice, sorry! This chapter wasn't really planned (hence the lack of some of these characters being mentioned a lot before, especially in the wedding – just pretend they were there in the background, having a good time!) but I just ended up writing it instead of the chapter I intended to write. And it turned out to be a bit of a mammoth one and pretty deep! Hope that is ok. Read and review, let me know what you think! LP. x **


	24. Chapter 24

Chapter 24

Sybil had insisted on going in the car to meet him from the station, she was so anxious to have him back by her side that the extra half an hour of separation waiting at Downton would create, seemed completely unbearable. As the train drew in Sybil was overly aware of every beat of her heart in her chest. Tom appeared on the platform, stepping off the train and emerging through the veil of steam it left behind, their eyes locked and a smile broke on his face, smoothing away the furrow in his brow.

She ran along the platform to him, not caring how unladylike it would seem, and let her hat fall to the floor, swept from the hold of a hatpin by the wind. His arms were around her, his hands grabbing at the material of her coat across her back as she buried her face in his neck. It was a completely wordless greeting, but said more of their longing for one another, their equal aimlessness in the other's absence, the feeling of incompleteness that had plagued them both, than any words possibly could. He pulled away, letting his hands slide onto the tops of her arms, so he could study her face. She looked tired, as to be expected with Lillie still so small, but she had colour to her cheeks now and it seemed this week had held the final steps in her recovery. She looked _well_ again – a sight he greeted with much relief. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, a loose curl that had freed itself from the knot at the nape of her neck, and kissed her. Slowly and tenderly, making the time they had spent apart seem insignificant – a mere drop in the ocean of what would be their lifetime together.

"I've missed you," she said as he broke the kiss, "we have both missed you." Sybil smiled then, both of them sensing the novelty of having another person to miss and be missed, to have to say goodbye to but happily to greet again upon a return. They turned and Sybil slipped her arm through his as they began to make their way back down the platform, toward the porter's office and the waiting room, beyond which the car and the chauffeur sat waiting – an introduction to the world Tom was about to find himself submerged in once again.

He bent to retrieve Sybil's hat and pin, holding them against his case with one hand while pulling her into his side with his other arm, the feeling of her body against his a comfort, a memory like a not so distant dream. "And I you, both of you." He placed a kiss against her temple, breathing in the smell of her hair. He felt like he was at home with her, no matter how many miles now lay between them and the house in Dublin. "Ma sends her love and a parcel of things for the baby. She wants us to come home, to bring Lillie home, no doubt so she can coo over her and spoil her rotten."

A fond, content smile played on Sybil's lips as the feeling that everything was right again settled about her. "It is a grandmother's prerogative to do such a thing. I'm not sure Mama will ever forgive us for taking her away from Downton. I've no doubt there will be a lot of visits in the future, she will miss her so, it will break her heart."

"I don't suppose anyone was heartbroken at my being absent for a little while."

Sybil smirked at him, her eyes twinkling. "Though she would never admit it, Granny has missed you, none of the rest of her dining companions are quite controversial enough for her any more…"

**This is just a little snippet (not what I originally planned Chapter 25 to be at all!) to bridge the gap between Tom's time in Ireland and the events following his return, which will unfold in Chapter 26 as I planned before. Chapter 27 is written so I will still aim to get that and the as yet invisible Chapter 26 up before next weekend – which means before Downton returns and we see what Mr Fellowes has in store! Everything will be completely off canon after that! Hope you like this little snippet; let me know what you think. LP. x**


	25. Chapter 25

Chapter 25 

**This sort of, kind of might potentially contain a nod toward a spoiler. But I'm not sure, I've sort of lost track of what is a spoiler and what isn't a spoiler these days! **

The day of Mary and Matthew's wedding dawned and it was bright and crisp, one of those mornings that promised so much for the day. It will be glorious by lunchtime, Sybil thought as she pulled open the curtains to their bedroom, allowing warm bands of sunlight to fall across the floor. Tom was in bed, still in his bedclothes, with Lillie in his arms. He'd sat her up, her little rump on his knee, his hand against her chest supporting her weight as he rubbed at her back, trying to bring up any wind from her feed. He was looking down at her, watching for the faces she contorted her features into as she fought the burping. Sybil studied them from her place near the window; her head slightly to one side and a contented smile playing on her lips.

Lillie let out one final little belch and Tom felt the change in her that meant his job was done, her lowered her back into the crook of his arm and allowed her to wrap her chubby little fist around it. He looked up from their daughter to see Sybil watching them.

He cocked his head inquisitively as she took a few steps back toward the bed. "What?"

"She's got you now you know." Her smile grew, "In a few years she'll have you attending to her every little whim." She slipped under the covers again, resting her cheek against his chest as he freed his hand from Lillie's grasp and put his arm around her. The baby's eyelids grew heavy as she gave in to sleep again, the warmth of her parents and comfort of a full belly lulling her into a slumber.

"She's had me since the beginning." He chuckled slightly; imagining a little girl with bouncing curls and his eyes and Sybil's smile, a little girl who had him wrapped around her little finger. He pressed a kiss into the top of Sybil's head and placed his hand on top of hers on Lillie's round, little belly. "Since the very beginning."

_Tom had returned from Ireland looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. He had done his best to hide it, especially from Sybil, but it had been obvious even to Mary amidst her preoccupation with the wedding. His silence at dinner, even when certain, controversial topics were brought up was obvious but Violet and Robert welcomed it, Mary and Cora were too involved in the wedding plans to confront him and Sybil was still reveling in the joy of having him back by her side. _

_ It was Matthew who truly noticed and acted upon it the evening before the wedding. Lord and Lady Grantham had retired to bed, the Dowager Countess had been ferried home while Isobel had followed Sybil upstairs to coo over Lillie as she had her bedtime feed and Mary and Edith had disappeared into the upper floors to inspect Mary's dress for a final time, chatting excitedly about veils and tiaras. As the door closed behind them Matthew stood and made his way to the decanters on the side table, he poured whiskey into a pair of cut glass tumblers and held one out to Tom as he settled into the armchair opposite him, the crackle of the fire punctuating the silence. _

_ "A penny for them?" Matthew's words pulled Tom out of his thoughts; he looked up at him and accepted the glass with a nod of thanks. "Nothing too bad troubling you, I hope." _

_ Tom pursed his lips as if trying to decide if he should share his thoughts. "Is it that obvious?" _

_ "You've been quiet – some would say unusually so." Matthew took a sip from his drink and let his arm settle on the armrest of the chair, swilling the liquid around his glass. "Bad news from home?" Tom frowned, his eyes focused on an indeterminate spot a few feet ahead of him and Matthew wondered if he had over stepped the mark, prodded too deeply at a sensitive subject. "Sorry, I don't mean to pry."_

_ "No no, you're not prying. Thank you for your concern." Tom looked up at Matthew again, sighing slightly. "I've a brother, my eldest brother, who seems to be getting himself in a little too deep." He fixed his eyes on Matthew before looking down into his own drink, mirroring Matthew's swirling. "If his Lordship calls me a fenian radical I'm not sure he would have any idea what to think of Joe." He cleared his throat, meeting Matthew's eye again. "He got himself in trouble a few times when we were younger, as many young men did - do, but we all thought marriage had…"He paused, searching for the words, "…tamed him somewhat. Or made him voice his beliefs less violently. But its obvious he is back in with his old cronies again and more pumped up than ever." _

_ "You couldn't talk to him?" _

_ Tom shook his head, a smile of desperation playing on his lips. "He doesn't exactly think highly of me anymore. He didn't think highly of me coming over here to work all those years ago, Christ – I'm a traitor now. Married to an English woman, an English noblewoman no less. I've made him the uncle to an English child. He thinks I'm running from Ireland's troubles to the safety of the English." He drained the rest of the drink. "In his eyes I may as well be the one enforcing the rules that discriminate against him. I'm as bad as the black and tans – if not worse."_

_ "But you are so openly political, so open on your desire for freedom for Ireland. Anyone sat around the table here knows that. Your writing, the papers…" Matthew trailed off as he saw the look on Tom's face, as he screwed his eyes shut and began to shake his head. _

_ "That's not enough for him. He sees that as a cowards attempt, a pointless way to respond. He thinks it has to be tit for tat, respond to violence and enforced suffering with exactly that, violence and suffering for the other side." His face fell, almost into a grimace, "Every time there is post or a telegram I expect it to be from my Ma, telling me the worst. He'd die for a free Ireland without putting a thought to it." _

_ "I must say that there was a time when I think we all thought the same of you." Matthew's words were quiet, as if he wasn't sure whether to actually say them or not and making them barely audible was a compromise. _

_ "Maybe I was more like that once." Tom looked into the fire, still holding on to his empty glass running his finger along the rim. "But things are different now – it's not just me I've to think of." He turned to look at Matthew again, his face set and serious. "No matter what I think and feel, I can't just mindlessly throw myself into it like I might have once."_

_ "Because of Sybil and the baby?"_

_ "Exactly – you don't fight for something for as long as I did to start taking risks like that when you've got it. Not when you've got everything you ever dreamed of to lose."_

The wedding went without a hitch. The day was, as Sybil had predicted, bright and sunny and warm. The church was filled with coloured light that danced across the congregation in great arcs, bathing them in deep blues and greens. Sybil stood in a pew, Edith to one side and Tom to the other with her sleeping daughter ensconced in blankets pressed to her chest, and watched the marriage that had seemed too doomed to ever happen, finally take place.

Mary looked beautiful, all in white, a band of diamonds glittering above her veil, a bouquet of white and peach blooms in her hands. Matthew looked at her as she approached him, as she walked down the aisle by their father, like she was a goddess – the single most precious thing that existed on this earth.

Sybil looked ahead at her father, stood just in front of Edith and watched his face as they said their vows. He was so proud, obviously in awe and it hurt for a while that she hadn't made him look like that, that he hadn't been there to be proud and in awe of her on her own wedding day.

It became a day of comparisons from then on. The lavish party, in the garden back at the house, seemed stayed and overly formal for an event celebrating something as joyful as the union of two hearts. The flowers felt a little too much, overly extravagant – but that was Mary she supposed. The cake too big, too elaborate. The meal pure gluttony.

It was so different to their celebration, to the way the hours following their nuptials had been spent. But she saw the look on Mary's face when she looked at Matthew and she knew that at the heart of it, it was all exactly the same. Driven by the same overwhelming feelings, the wanting to give your heart to someone to keep forever. She smiled at that realization, that in reality, no matter what their Papa thought, she and Mary and the men they had married, the reasons they had married, were exactly the same.

She retired to the house not long after the meal, reminded of her duty to her daughter by the feeling of fullness in her breasts. The silence of her bedroom was nice, a welcome peacefulness after the chatter of outside, the endless stream of people she was obliged to converse with politely. Lillie was feeding noisily, Sybil's finger stroking her cheek, when the door clicked open. Sybil looked up to see Tom slip through the door, his hat in his hand, already shrugging off his jacket.

"I came to see how my girls were getting on." He lay the jacket and hat down on the bed and approached them carefully, taking in Sybil's smile, as he settled himself on the arm of the chair and looked down at the baby. "You were more beautiful you know."

She looked up at him and his eyes twinkled. "What do you mean?"

"On our wedding day - you made a much more beautiful bride."

She smirked at him and suppressed a little laugh. "Don't you think you're a little biased?"

He bent down and placed a kiss on her forehead, she shut her eyes, enjoying the softness of his lips on her skin. "Maybe I am. But I know I'm right."

**I know the whole point of this fic was that they came back for M&M's wedding – it's only taken me 25 chapters to finally get there! And even then it only gets a few paragraphs! But come on, who are you here for really?! I love the prospect of a [SPOILERS!] bit of a Matthew-Branson bromance, hence that bit in the middle. Hope you like it and it didn't all get a bit too mushy and lovey dovey - although again, that's what we're here for, isn't it? :p LP. x**


	26. Chapter 26

Chapter 26

The months following the wedding were a little strange, the come down, which always follows an event that had been so anticipated, reached into every corner of the house. Matthew and Mary went off on their honeymoon and were waved off by the staff and family, Matthew driving the car just as Tom had taught him.

Lillie grew like a weed and Sybil couldn't help but be struck by the feeling that she was different every morning when she woke for her first feed. Her face wore a new expression or her hair appeared a little curlier or her legs longer. She was so different already to the tiny baby she had cradled against her chest, exhausted from an unrelenting labour, as she introduced her husband to their daughter. She became the light in the house, filling the void left by the preparations for the wedding and making everyone forget the awful weeks that had lead up to it, with Sybil seemingly on the edge of life, tucked away in her childhood bedroom and visited twice daily by Dr Clarkson.

September, with it's long warm days amidst evenings and early mornings of biting cold, gave in to October – a month which seemed to plunge the world into a wintery darkness. Tom wrote a lot; articles for papers and journals and letters to his Ma and more frequently Francis. Routines were settled into as the days shortened and the house grew colder. He would write in his study, through much of the day, trying to take advantage of the light. His evenings were for his family and he relished seeing them together, as Sybil fed their daughter and laid her down to bed. Sybil and Lillie would spend their days with Edith, who was perhaps more smitten with the baby than had been expected, and Cora who voiced her need to 'make the most of every minute with her.'

The return to Ireland was on the horizon; their tickets were booked for early November with a promise to return at Christmas, to, as the Dowager Countess had put it 'make up for last year.' Sybil was beginning to feel it would be nice to return home, to Dublin, to be back in their _own_ house and to introduce Lillie into the fold of her Papa's family.

Matthew and Mary returned from the continent looking sun kissed and happy and worry-free. Their month alone, out exploring both the big world and one another, had clearly suited them. They returned to the big house initially, intending to move into the village once things were settled and Tom enjoyed that company of a man his own age and Sybil thoroughly enjoyed having her eldest sister back, hearing her stories, hearing of all the places she had been, all the adventures she and Matthew had been on.

Mary bounced Lillie in her arms, marveling about how changed she was. The baby smiled up at her aunt, a new trick she had been delighting people with over the last week, and Mary cooed at her. Sybil saw Tom raise an eyebrow at Matthew who took a sip from his drink, suddenly looking at the floor; she couldn't help but laugh at the exchange between the two. Lillie began to fuss, ready for a feed and she screwed her face up ready to cry.

Mary looked to Sybil, slightly alarmed. The onlookers turned to her too; Cora and Isobel with a knowing smile and the Dowager Countess with a look that seem to express her dismay that the infant was not keeping to the etiquette of the room. Robert engaged Matthew in conversation then, asking him about the honeymoon, wondering if Paris had changed.

"She's just hungry." Sybil held out her hand to Mary, who rose carefully, tentative with the weight of the baby in her arms. "Come with me Mary, you can tell me all about France. We won't be long." Mary followed her and Sybil brushed her hand against Tom's as she left the room, leaving him next to the safe company of her mother.

"Take her Sybil, I don't want hurt her." They had arrived at the foot of the stairs and Mary had hesitated, looking down at Lillie who was still squealing, her face now the colour of beetroot.

Sybil looked at her sister and the awkward way in which she was holding Lillie against her chest. She took the baby from her and instantly Lillie began to nuzzle against her chest, smelling the milk on her. "You wouldn't drop her Mary, she's a robust little thing. Although I'm only learning now that I needn't treat her like glass." Mary stroked the hair on the baby's head as the climbed the stairs and Lillie gripped the finger she offered her in her tiny fist. It placated her somewhat and by the time they were in Sybil's room her fussing had quieted to a series of little frustrated snorts.

"She likes you." Sybil looked up at Mary, who had settled on the end of the bed, as she sat in the chair by the fireplace and set about unbuttoning her blouse. Lillie's face began to screw up in preparation to wail, to let the world know she was still hungry but Sybil was able to get her to latch on before she began her cries. The sound of her hungry sucking was a welcome substitute.

Mary had averted her eyes at first, feeling the need to keep some of Sybil's modesty, but Sybil continued to talk to her, asking about Paris and the journey through to the south. And Mary found her eyes settling on the baby; the back of her head resting on Sybil's forearm, her dark curls brushing her mother's skin. One starfish hand was flung upward and rested just below Sybil's collarbone, she held it, bringing it to her mouth and pressing a kiss into her daughter's palm. Sybil looked up, Mary's silence, her lack of involvement in the conversation, gaining her attention.

"Mary?" Sybil held out her free arm to her sister, "Are you alright Mary?"

"She's so perfect Sybil." Mary moved over and sat on the arm of Sybil's chair, watching the baby's cheeks move as they worked to fill her belly. "So, so perfect. She's like a little person now. I know that must sound odd, but before we left it was hard to think of her as anything but a bundle of blankets. And with you so ill I couldn't see the way you made one another light up in the way you do." Sybil turned her head to look at Mary's face, to see the sincerity in her older sister's eyes. "Gosh, if only we could have seen this a year ago, I've no doubt if Papa had known how happy you would be, the three of you, he wouldn't have put quite as much energy into being disapproving of you. We are so ashamed of him for that, I hope you know that. You were not the only one disappointed in him for not attending your wedding."

Sybil squeezed Mary's hand in her own, touched that her sister knew, had given thought to how that might have felt. To have a gaping whole in your wedding where a father's steady arm and proud smile ought to be.

Mary sat patiently while Sybil finished Lillie's feed, winded her and changed her nappy; she watched everything carefully, studying the interaction between mother and daughter and holding onto the baby's little hands as she was stripped of her dirty clothes, the cool air on her skin startling her into tears.

Mary settled in the chair by the fire with the baby in her arms; Lillie had drifted into a contented sleep once she was bundled up in blankets, warming her cold limbs. Sybil stood back and watched her sister with her daughter; Mary looked down at the baby intensely, studying every detail of her face.

It saddened Sybil slightly that Mary would likely never have the quiet moments like this. There would be nursemaids and governesses for her children no doubt. It was tradition and it would likely be adhered to due to the judging eyes of their Granny and society. The weight of expectation on Mary and her abilities as not only a mother but a producer of male heirs to the estate must have been overwhelming. Sybil counted her blessings that Lillie's birth had not been cloaked in expectation of a boy, the house thrown into poorly masked disappointment or overwhelming relief and joy once the gender of the baby was revealed. Mary would have that. At least not until she had a son. No matter how hard everyone tried to disguise it, there would be expectation – a need for her to produce the next earl. It seemed such a shame to taint it, such a wonderful thing as a birth, of a girl or a boy, with something as heavy as inheritance.

"You look perfect." Sybil sighed, her voice barely above a whisper.

Mary looked up at her and blushed. "We do?"

Sybil nodded and took up Mary's position on the arm of the chair. "When you are blessed Mary, with a little one, don't let them talk you into anything you don't want for the sake of being 'proper'. It may be their heir, societies future earl or whatever, but it will be _your_ child. No matter what the future holds for it, it will always be that."

Mary looked up at Sybil, confused, but the look in her younger sisters eyes told her not to question, that she would understand one day. That it would be advice worth taking.

**Another chapter to follow right away, was initially going to put them up as one but they didn't fit together at all, so although they are shorter you get double today! This one was a bit waffley, but needed to show the passing of time since the wedding. LP. x**


	27. Chapter 27

Chapter 27

**There is a new Chapter 26 up too, submitted at the same time. Don't want anyone to miss it! Go back and read that first.**

Sybil was already up when he woke that morning. She stood cradling Lillie, silhouetted against the light that streamed through the window, winter light – the first like it of the year, as if marking the first day of November. Bright and white and crisp, breaking through the night's mist. She was singing softly to the baby, so entirely focused on settling her that she hadn't noticed Tom stir and prop himself up on one arm so he could watch them. The light made her nightdress sheer; he could see her shape through the fabric. All soft curves and swells, she no longer looked pregnant, her stomach now more or less flat but the baby had left her mark. Sybil's hips were softer, her breasts larger and rounder. She looked more like a woman now than she had before. Motherhood, he thought, had made her even more beautiful.

She swayed slightly, rocking Lillie back into a slumber after her feed, gazing down at the baby in her arms. It was still early, Tom realized this must be the feed that normally allowed them to hear the staff being woken upstairs – the softest footsteps echoing through the still house. Sybil sensed his eyes on her and turned gently, maintaining her swaying motion, to face him slightly. Her hair was wild, battling to escape the plait that had tamed it the night before, and it framed her face in soft curls. Her eyes twinkled at him in the light and she mouthed 'good morning' at him, mindful of the infant in her arms, still in the delicate early stages of sleep.

When Lillie seemed truly settled, when she let out her even little snuffling snores, Sybil settled her back in her cradle, ensuring she was well swaddled and covered in blankets before turning back to her own bed. Tom held up the sheets to allow her to slide in and gasped slightly as she wrapped her freezing feet around his, a much-used tactic of hers to warm her toes. She pulled herself into him, allowing his arms to drape around her body and buried her head into his chest.

"You look beautiful you know." She looked shyly at him as he spoke, placing her hand self-consciously over the area of her stomach that to her still seemed slightly rounded.

The room was cold, still too early for anyone to have come in to light a fire and she shivered. He pulled the eiderdown closer around them both and allowed her to intertwine her legs with his own, to steal his warmth.

"Not like before though." Her voice was soft, barely above a whisper and muffled by his chest. "Not like before the baby."

He stoked her hair and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "You're all the more beautiful because of her." He lifted her chin with his finger, bringing her lips to his own. As the kiss deepened she rolled further onto her front, on to him and he felt the swell of her breasts, her hips, her thighs against him. His hand slid down her back, falling into her waist and then tracing round her side, her hipbones soft against him. She took in breath as his hands brushed her breasts, still more sensitive than before, despite their emptiness, the baby's belly full. He paused, pulling away and asking with his eyes if it was okay, if she was okay. She nodded, a tiny movement of her head that preceded another long, lingering kiss.

They made love that morning, for the first time since Lillie's birth almost three months earlier, in the gentle, tentative way they had in the first few days following the wedding. He slightly afraid of hurting her, looking out for every noise and face she made; she suddenly unsure of what to do, her mind overthinking it all, unsure what to expect. But it was tender and beautiful despite their awkwardness. She kissed his neck as he came and he laced his fingers between hers. They lay afterwards, bodies wrapped around one another, in the sleepy euphoria that they had both missed since the height of summer, when the swell of the baby in Sybil's belly had seemed like a barrier between them.

The baby stirred in her cradle, she had kicked off her blankets and was no doubt cold. He placed a kiss on the end of her nose as he slipped from the bed to attend to Lillie, he watched Sybil's face as she gave in to sleep, her hand up next to her face, fingers delicately fanned out brushing her cheek. How she had changed him, he thought, how they had changed each other. He brought the baby back into bed with him, nestled her between their warm bodies and smiled as she nuzzled at her mother. She was no longer a barrier between them, the baby that had once slept in Sybil's belly, but a bridge, a product of their love for one another. That they had triumphed when no one else thought they would. That they belonged to one another now, whatever happened.

**It seems so weird to be writing this now that Downton is actually back on TV! Obviously this is no longer canon, but I do have something in the works that is, which I plan to write alongside this (I can guarantee it will confuse me!) I hope you all still enjoy even though it doesn't bear any resemblance to what is going on in the show. Thank you for all the readers who have stuck with me and a special thanks to lifedistractions on tumblr who mentioned me in a list of S/B fanfic authors. Let me know your thoughts! LP. x**


	28. Chapter 28

Chapter 28

**Right, just to confuse you all in this chapter (and possibly the next few) **_**italics **_**means Sybil's POV, non-italics means Tom's. Not much of it in this chapter, but will become important in subsequent ones! No flashbacks, just me being rubbish at formatting anything using anything other than italics! **

The year's first frost covered the ground on the morning that Tom left, alone, for Ireland. Lillie was ill, a cold had taken hold in her little chest and she wasn't well enough to leave the warm cocoon of the house, the journey to Dublin would only have worsened it. Clarkson had told it would not be wise to take the trip. Sybil had been somewhat disappointed, eager to settle back in her own space, her own home.

Tom was relieved in some ways – Francis' letters had not painted a good picture regarding the tension across the country, an even worse one when it came to Joseph. He was anxious that Sybil and Lillie stay removed from the worst of it, news that a bill was officially to be passed in December to partition the north from the south was everywhere, he hoped that the new year would bring with it peace and relative safety. The longer they stayed away, stayed at Downton, the longer he was sure they were both safe.

There was another goodbye, another painful goodbye which left them both feeling empty and alone. As the car drove away Tom held his hand to his cheek, touching the spot that had been pressed against her own hand moments earlier.

_That night Sybil spread out in the bed; a feeling that a few months ago, still new to sharing her bed every night, she would have relished, but now the space was cold and unwelcoming – a cruel reminder that she would have no one to wake up to the following morning. The space around her seemed wrong, uncomfortable even and she rolled onto her side, flush with the edge of the bed and slept as she would with him there, but for the chill in her toes the eiderdown alone couldn't shift. _

On his arrival in Dublin the situation was worse than Tom had thought. Bridget looked fraught as she ushered him into the house, greeting him in the hallway once the door was shut firmly behind them.

"Bridget?" He looked at his sister's face as she said her hello, commented on the chill in the air outside and took his coat. "Oh God Bridget, what has happened?"

She stared at him for a while, he could see she was torn – unsure whether she should share her burden at that moment or not. She swallowed, then pulled him into the front parlour, away from the ears of the others. "It's Pa, Tommy. The Black and Tans, they've caught wind that Joe is in with those damn Finnertys. They've done something Tommy, no one is really sure what, but enough to put a black mark against their name in the eyes of the authorities and they've disappeared." Bridget smoothed Tom's coat over her arm, busying her fingers with pulling any stray threads from the woolen cloth as she spoke. Tom's eyes were on her, studying her face beneath her dropped lashes. "And it seems Joe has got himself on their list as well, gone off with them into hiding. Bloody cowards." She lifted her eyes to meet his, "They came here, looking for Joe and it was just Pa and the boys and Meg here, we had gone to the market, the others were at work still. They made a right mess of his face Tommy; they didn't believe that Joe wasn't here. Meg managed to get the little ones out of the way, but Pa – he's still shaken." She took his hand, squeezing her warm fingers around his cold ones. She felt him tense at the news, worry for his father hitting him like a dead weight. "You ought to know, before you see him. Ma has got the boys and me living here now, poor Máire and hers too. She doesn't want anyone out of her sight." She took a breath and Tom wasn't sure if she was suppressing tears or waiting for his reaction. "No one has heard from Joe in over a fortnight."

"Is he ok? Pa? Did those bastards do any lasting damage?" Bridget shook her head, cautious of her brother's tone. Tom took a breath and ran a hand through his hair, exasperated and slightly panicked but glad he hadn't brought his family back to this. "Why did no one say? In the letters? Not even Frankie, I knew there was something – but not this." He drew away from her and paced toward the window, "Has no one tried to find him? Not even had an idea of where he might be?"

Bridget stared at him then, he eyes wide with fear and disbelief. "You think after they come and beat up our Pa, a man everyone knows isn't guilty of anything, we would go looking for him? Risk ourselves? He has done this Tommy, remember that, this is his mess and it is our job now to look after the woman he has abandoned. Don't let some level of brotherly loyalty make you forget your safety. It is dangerous, Tommy."

"He is standing up for what he believes Bridget, even if in the wrong way. We shouldn't berate him for wanting our freedom by abandoning him like this. He has gone about it in the wrong way Bridget, but he is still our brother!" His tone was sharp, his words harsher than he would have liked. He was remembering the argument he had had with Joe the last time he had seen him, he couldn't bear the thought that such a conversation could be the final words that ever passed between the two of them.

Bridget's temper flared and she flew at him. He hand making contact with his arm and smarting. He turned away as she spoke, away from her face, her eyes full of fire. "So you would put Sybil and your little girl at risk, your Ma and Pa, the whole bloody lot of us, so that you could prove a point in a tit for tat conflict? Using methods that are going to achieve nothing but pain and grief? He's putting his life on the line like it is bloody nothing, doesn't he think we've suffered enough death in the last few years."

Tom shut his eyes, feeling his sister's pain in every word and he regretted his outburst. He turned toward her again, taking her hand in both of his. "I'm sorry Bridget, I'm sorry." He pulled her toward him, wrapping his arms around her and letting her sob into his chest.

"I am so angry at him for putting us all in this position, that I cannot even begin to think of what we ought to be doing…" She took in a deep breath, filling her lungs before another sob filled her chest. "I can't lose another person I love Tommy, not yet."

Her deceased husband was in the forefront of both of their minds, along with the little girl Bridget had held in her belly the morning she received the telegram informing her of Patrick's death in 1918. Michael had been in his pram in the hallway, less than a year old himself, the twins had come to their mother's aide as she collapsed sobbing onto the floor. They fetched their grandmother, unaware that they were now fatherless. The baby had been born early a matter of weeks later, too small and delicate to survive in the world. Tom had read her letters and been drawn back to the realities of the world – his sister's life came crashing around her ears, while in the safe bubble of Downton his life with Sybil was at its very beginning, hopeful and happy. He had not been immune to the grief though and most of Bridget's letters had been stained with tears, the ink running in transparent droplets down the page.

She fell silent and drew away, turning from him as she wiped her tears away. "Ma will be wondering where we have got to." She made for the kitchen and Tom dutifully followed. A foot or so away from the door she paused and pushed a hand against his chest to stop him too, she looked up at him, her face honest and full of concern. "I know you are going to go looking for him, but please Tommy, don't do anything stupid. Be careful." He nodded at her, mute, not sure any words he could muster could convince her. His last conversation with Sybil, in the bedroom at Downton with Lillie cradled in his arms, had been along the same lines. What a world away it seemed now. "You have so much more than yourself to live for now Tommy. Remember that."

**This is a bit rough around the edges, barely edited, but I want to get this and at least a further chapter up before next weeks episode (I won't say too much for any Americans not watching at UK pace, but episode 4 looks wonderful S/B-centric!) so it's a bit of a race against time now I have actual work to do again! Hope you enjoy it and I know I always ask, but please review if you enjoyed it or have anything you want to comment on – they do wonders for my writing productivity! Another should be up some time soon! LP. x**


	29. Chapter 29

Chapter 29

_ Weeks passed. The snowy evenings of December beckoned as November ended and winter began it's full onslaught. Lillie's cold abated but Tom's letters urged Sybil to stay at Downton for now; he made excuses about the weather, that their house might be too cold or a little damp for such a tiny baby barely over an illness, that the ferry crossing would be rough. They would be safer, warmer, dryer, healthier at Downton. Sybil saw through them, knew they were excuses, he was keeping quiet about something. It made her nervous. _

_ The papers were full of stories, written from a staunchly British perspective, painting the Irish Catholics, the Republicans as the true villains, fighting those who tried their best to provide for them with reckless abandon. Sybil knew what it was really like and after a couple of weeks grew so frustrated with what she knew to be lies that she stopped reading the stories, a while later she tried to prevent her father from doing the same. She was in the dark as tensions over the Irish Sea grew, escalating from an underlying simmer to a ferocious boil. She relied only on Tom's letters, full of carefully chosen words – too rigid to be his natural writing, peppered with the occasional worrying phrase of desperation that made Sybil's heart jump into her throat. _

_The letters stopped suddenly and painfully and Sybil felt as if a limb had been ripped from her body. She needed his words, if she could not have him; she needed his words and his assurances. His messages of love, his anecdotes about Dublin and questions about Downton. She clutched at Lillie as she fed; marveled at how innocently unaware the infant in her arms was of her importance as Sybil's connection to Tom and at the state of the world around her. _

_She pressed her daughter's tiny palm into the pad of her thumb and stroked the soft skin on the back of her hand. She felt tears come to her eyes and the baby closed her fist, wrapping her fingers around Sybil's thumb. There was a soft knock at the door and it clicked open, Mary slid into the room her eyes full of concern, her face trying desperately to hide it. _

"_Sybil?" She approached the chair by the fireplace, studying the form of her youngest sister and niece wrapped up in a blanket, enveloped in the warmth of the fire. Lillie's greedy sucking was audible but so was Sybil's sniffing, an attempt to rid herself of the evidence of her distress. "I wondered where you had got to, I've barely seen you today." Sybil kept her eyes firmly on her daughter as Mary knelt by the chair, leaning her elbows on its arms and looking at the baby's face. "She's obviously recovered now, a hungry little thing – she's building up her strength. Wants to get well enough to get home to see her Papa." Mary regretted it the minute the words left her mouth. _

_Sybil broke down, sobs wracking her chest and making her entire body jolt. "Oh God, Mary." She looked up at her sister, tears already staining her cheeks. Mary drew Sybil into her, stroking her hair as she had done when she was a little girl – distraught over a broken toy or a grazed knee. "I just need to hear from him, I need to know what is going on. To know he is safe." _

Tom felt a throbbing in his head and a cool wetness snake down his neck. He opened his eyes and squinted into the murky light at his unfamiliar surroundings. Wherever he was it was cold, the kind of cold damp that took hold in your bones first and numbed your fingers and toes to dead weights. He couldn't remember how he had ended up here. He just remembered shouting and his mother's screaming and rough hands on his wrists.

He was suddenly aware of the presence of another in the room, sat on a wooden bench on the wall opposite, studying him. The figure's right eye was swollen shut and one trouser leg was saturated with blood and torn roughly across the shin, revealing mangled skin beneath.

"Tommy? Can you hear me Tommy?" It was Joe. He leaned forward, stiffly and with a grimace as he bore weight on his injured leg. He watched as his brother's lips moved but the words were muffled, only heard in one ear. Tom put his hand up to his ear and felt the blood, then the pain came – sharp and overwhelming. He was disorientated by the near complete loss of one of his senses, but Joe pulled his face round to look him in the eye. "I'm so sorry Tommy," Joe broke down, tears filling his eyes, and placed a palm flat against the side of Tom's face, Tom read the words forming on his brother's lips. "I'm so sorry I got you mixed up in this."

Joe turned suddenly to the door, hearing something Tom couldn't and his expression was suddenly fearful. It changed to terror when the door opened. Suddenly Joe wasn't in front of him any more and in his daze Tom was barely aware of the arms wrenching him to his feet and leading him out of the cell.

_Sybil took to rising for breakfast, wanting the company first thing in the morning. Someone else to amuse Lillie while she herself ate, a chance for some adult conversation and to gauge the news from her father's expression as her read the newspaper. It was the beginning of December, the morning at breakfast that her father announced she had a letter with an Irish postmark and Sybil's eyes lit up, Tom's silence over the past weeks had given her father fuel for the fire, his occasional comments – repeatedly inquiring about his whereabouts had begun to make her think he was doubting Tom's return. He'd dumped her and his baby daughter back in the care of the Granthams and ran off to relive his former life – as a young man free of responsibilities. _

_ Her heart sunk when she saw the front of the envelope, it wasn't Tom's writing but the neat upright script in which Peggy Branson had written her guide to the practicalities of caring for a newborn. What possible reason was there for Peggy to write to her if Tom was there, back in Dublin as he should be, safe and sound? Suddenly doubt began to creep in; the gnawing thought - what if her father had been right? _

_ Sybil rose from the table, leaving Lillie on Edith's lap, and ran through the house to her bedroom. She knew that the contents of this letter were not something she wanted the family to witness her reading. _

_ Missing._

_Missing was the word she focused on, that span around her head. 'Missing' and 'Tommy' and 'Joseph' along with 'arrested' and 'rebel'. The words brought a gasp to her throat and made her feel as if someone had kicked her in the stomach. She was sat on the edge of the bed, hands shaking like a leaf when Edith entered the room with Lillie on her hip._

"_Oh God, no." Edith took one look at Sybil's pale face and knew. She knew that Sybil was already grieving him._

**Had a burst of creativity this morning (when I definitely should have been getting other stuff done) and finally finished this chapter. It is (again) a bit rough round the edges but I wanted to get it done so I could focus on the work I actually have to do today! This is a storyline I've had planned for a while for this, so though it seems a bit removed from the fluffiness of the earlier chapters – it was always meant to happen! Hope you like it, leave me some feedback if you've the time! LP. x**


	30. Chapter 30

Chapter 30

**I'll be the first to admit that I'm embarrassingly rusty on the finer details of this particular period of Irish history. I've taken a bit of artistic license here, so take it all with a pinch of salt! N.B. (Spoilers for those who haven't seen S3!) I wrote parts of this chapter months ago, wondering whether Lord Grantham would actually have the level of clout needed to help. Thank you Downton for answering the question for me! **

_ Sybil had felt numb since Mrs Branson's letter arrived days before. She had stuck to her room, only seeing the others when they came to her, their faces pained, their words sympathetic. She had gone about caring for Lillie, feeding her and changing her and bathing her, trying desperately to fill the time that was otherwise filled with thoughts of the worst. She had started putting the baby to sleep in the bed next to her, anxious that she not be too far away, that her connection with Tom be close by. She would place a hand on Lillie's soft little belly so she could feel her breathing, reassurance that she was safe. _

_ When Anna came in first thing Sybil was always awake, staring blankly at the infant sleeping next to her. The dark circles around her eyes and pallid caste over her skin made Anna doubt that she had got any sleep; she recognised the look of a woman had just spent the night alone with her thoughts in the darkness. _

_The letter Lord Grantham received in response to his enquiries with his connections in Ireland merely made those awaiting news more anxious. Five men had been arrested on the day Tom had disappeared, none had been released and at least two of them were known to have been tried and punished, though the specifics of this were omitted, another was shot out right in an act of 'self-defence' by the arresting officers. _

_ Sybil sat on her bed, still nursing the baby, but otherwise frozen with a combination of shock and downright terror, as her mother told her the result of Lord Grantham's digging. Edith sat behind her and allowed her younger sister to collapse onto her as the situation hit her and she crumpled and dissolved into sobs. _

_ No one dared wish out loud that Tom was one of the lucky two – that he was alive and still awaiting trial. Not wanting to give Sybil a flicker of hope that was unlikely to be fruitful and because everyone knew that awaiting trial could cover all manner of sins, men awaiting trial could be kept in conditions so squalid and disease ridden they were virtually a death sentence in themselves._

_ Edith pulled her youngest sister against her, looking to her mother and elder sister, not knowing what to do next. A year ago none of them would have believed it, that Edith would be such a confidant, a support – but Lillie had softened her and the barriers that had prevented any closeness to her sisters seemed to have dropped. _

_Lillie began to cry, Sybil's movement had shifted her away from her breast and the baby could not find it again. She was hungry, unaware of the distress unfolding around her. The noise of the baby brought Sybil out of her tears and she allowed Edith to take her, feeling her own mother's hand on her back as she buttoned her blouse. Edith went to the window, rocking the bundle back and forth, slipping a finger into the baby's mouth to silence her for a little while at least. _

_Cora knelt on the floor in front of her daughter, searching for Sybil's eyes with her own as she squeezed her youngest daughter's hands in her own palms. "We will find him, my darling." She wiped away the tears that snaked down Sybil's cheeks with her thumb and let her hand linger on her cheek. Sybil pressed her face into her mother's hand, shutting her eyes, trailing new tears down from her lashes. "We will, whatever the out come. Your Papa is doing all he can to find him. Okay?" Sybil nodded, slowly and stiffly, as if it was taking all of her energy. "You are not alone my darling girl, my baby." _

_Sybil's eyes flicked open with at her mother's words and she brought her own hand up to her face, wrapping her fingers around Cora's, which still rested against her jaw. "Oh, Mama."_

"_We all love you immensely," Cora turned to the window, to the silhouette of Edith comforting the baby, "both of you. Know that we will do everything we possibly can." Sybil took in a breath sharply, fighting the tears that were threatening and Cora pulled her to her, feeling the shoulder of her blouse dampen immediately as Sybil pressed her face into the crook of her neck. "Oh my little darling," She stroked Sybil's curls, still half contained in the plait from the night before, "if I could take away the pain, if I could stop your hurt, I would do it in an instant." _

Peggy Branson received a telegram that evening, informing her of the death of her son Thomas Michael Branson on the 10th December 1920 following his arrest and an incident that required a member of the RIC to act in self-defence. A second line informed her of Joseph's arrest on the same day; he was being held, awaiting trial. She sobbed as she read the lines repeatedly. Sobbed for her boys, caught up in the bloody mess unfolding around them. She sobbed for herself, now a mother who faced burying her children. She sobbed for Sybil and the granddaughter, just a few months old, that she had yet to meet but had heard so much about from her Tommy, radiant in the joy of first time parenthood. The thought that that little baby would not get to grow up with the Pa who already loved her so broke her heart. She slumped against her kitchen wall. Baby Michael toddled up to her and threw himself into her lap, thumb in his mouth. Bridget found them there later, Michael by then asleep, her mother still crying into the little boy's curls – the piece of paper that had changed her life forever clutched tightly in one hand.

**Another slightly rough one, wanted this out before the next episode airs. Let me know your thoughts. LP. x**


	31. Chapter 31

**It's been all-quiet with this story for a while because quite honestly I had no idea what to write for this chapter and ideas for other stories (which I wrote and put up) in the mean time. Mr LP (despite not having read a word of this, as far as I know – I must just rabbit on about fanfics too much) said I ought to pick this one up again after leaving you in the lurch with C30, so you've him to thank for what follows! Gave me the kick up the arse I needed! Sorry it took me so long! Hope you are all well; let me know what you think (goooo on, push me over the 200 reviews mark!). LP. x**

Chapter 31

_A quiet had fallen over the house, the result of another of Mrs Branson's letters. A letter bringing the news that Sybil had feared, had barely dared to hope wouldn't come. _

_ Her father's reaction had hurt her in a time she needed no more hurt, the way he had sighed, the way he had looked and acted when her mother read him the letter, Sybil unable to bring herself to say the words. A sigh that said he had been proved right, one of the reasons he had opposed their relationship, the fears he had for her future had come to fruition. _

_ "Oh Sybil, darling." He had come to her, sat beside her as she sobbed into her pillow, held her hand in his, his eyes apologetic. "I am sorry, my worst fears have come true – but you must know I never wished this for you. I could never wish hurt like this for you." _

Christmas 1920

It was dark in the room but for the light that danced from the fire, it was midday and the curtains were still closed, blocking out the sunlight, which seemed too much to face right now. Everything else seemed so dark now; it only seemed right to surround herself with the physicality of darkness.

The baby lay against her in the bed, her face turned to Sybil, eyelids closed and face serene with sleep. Sybil envied her daughter, the way she could be oblivious to the pain, so completely innocent to all that was going on. She slept and she ate and she flashed her gummy little smiles; Sybil was glad Lillie wasn't hurting, but equally couldn't understand how it could be so – that a little girl who had lost the father who adored her could not feel it. Not realise the loss.

A tray of food rested at the end of the bed, Anna had brought it up hours earlier but Sybil had yet to touch it. She wouldn't go down for meals; the prospect of seeing them all round the table – seeing Matthew of all people – was unthinkable. Mary still had him, her future with him when everything she had of Tom was shattered, their hopes for their life together replaced with grief. The tray lay untouched, as the plates from the days before had also been. The meals that were brought up to her room were her favourites, the things she remembered most fondly from her childhood, things her mother and Mrs Patmore had planned no doubt to try and coerce her into eating something. Dr Clarkson had come the day before, after her mother had seen her undressing, seen the way her bones jutted out from her body now, he had lectured her about taking care of herself – for Lillie if for no one else. Her milk would stop soon if she didn't eat, her body would give up on processes that weren't vital to keep her alive as it ran out of fuel.

She had lain on the bed, staring blankly at the curtains drawn over the window through his examination and the advice that followed. Her mother had hovered nearby, Lillie cradled against her chest, swaying to and fro to keep the baby quiet. Cora had backed up Clarkson's plea, showed her concern for her daughter and her granddaughter, but it wasn't getting through. The wall of grief Sybil had built around herself was too much for them to infiltrate.

Robert was doing his best to get them to release the body, at least then they could give him a proper burial in Ireland, there would be a place she could go, to talk to him, to think of him. Not that she could do anything but think of him. But for the future, a place to take their daughter, to take Tom's daughter to tell her of her Pa would be healing. Something of a help at least. There was resistance though, to letting his body be released – they all knew too well it was probably because of the state it would be in, giving away the details behind what was probably a grisly, violent way to meet the end and not entirely true to the death the authorities had made them believe that Tom had faced.

Edith had taken to walking the baby outside in the perambulator, sometimes with Mary and sometimes alone, bundling the baby up against the December cold and seizing the opportunity to get the baby into the light and fresh air. But then in the week before Christmas Sybil had begun to grow anxious whenever the baby was out of her sight, waking if anyone tried to take her out of the bedroom while her mother slept. She was withdrawn fully into herself, consumed by the loss in a way that scared them all.

They took turns to sit with her, Cora and Edith and Mary, on a sort of rotation. Sometimes they would try and talk to her or get her to eat, others they would sit in the chair next to the fire and read – silent but present if she needed them, if she needed someone. But now, the afternoon before Christmas it was just Sybil and Lillie, the others called away to preparations for dinner and church. The planned festivities were not as extravagant they had been before the war, the legacy of the country's loss and now the shock of their own loss had made the Christmases they had had before 1914 seem garish and wasteful. There would be no ball with endless guests, just family, those they loved and dinner in each other's company.

Sybil placed a hand on Lillie's chest, feeling the heaviness in her own limbs that came from her fatigue. She felt the baby's chest rise and fall with each breath, her little body warm beneath her hand. This was not how she had wanted her little girl's first Christmas to be; it should have been happy and bright and warm, Tom should have danced with her with Lillie held against his chest, he should have been there to see the snow of a white Christmas, to wake to on Christmas morning, to kiss under the mistletoe. She remembered last Christmas, it had been cold and she had felt awful as the nausea of pregnancy hit with full force, but she had been happy. They had crammed into Mrs Branson's front parlour with Tom's brothers and sisters and nieces and nephews, they had laughed and played games and eaten – all happy to be together. It was a Christmas like she had never experienced, it was a truly _merry_ Christmas – loud and bright and overwhelming in a wonderful way. And the two of them had had their little secret, the baby she carried that only they knew of. She had drifted to sleep that Christmas night listening to Tom talk about the baby and the way their next Christmas would be so different. Sybil could never have imagined it would be different like this. Her and the baby alone, without him there to realise his imaginings.

A knock on the door was followed by Anna's voice, gentle and quiet as always so as not to disturb if Sybil and Lillie were sleeping. She ignored it and kept quiet, playing up to the assumption that she could sleep – wanting to be left. There was an exchange of voices; she could hear Anna and her mother. Then a sharp knock and her grandmother's voice, Violet made no effort to soften her tone and the door was thrown open before she could respond.

"Oh my word, Sybil dear. I knew things were bad but no one told me you were still in bed." Her grandmother walked round the bed when Sybil gave no response and sat herself next to the baby staring down at her granddaughter's face. "I know how much you are hurting my darling…" Sybil's eyes flicked up to her grandmother, her brow creased into a frown, the sternness of her expression interrupted Violet. The dowager countess gathered her thoughts, "Oh Sybil, please remember that I have been through this. I have lost the man I loved, my husband; I know the despair you are feeling. You want to hide yourself away from the world, let them forget you and leave you to mourn. You see no point in catering for your own needs; you see no reason to go on. I understand, I do. But you have the needs of another to care for."

"I have been feeding her and caring for her, I've not let her want for anything." Sybil's voice rasped, the first words to have left her lips in days. She wouldn't be told she wasn't caring for her daughter.

"I do not deny that. You have been feeding her and keeping her warm and changing her, I know that my dear. But being cooped up in a darkened room is no life for a little one." Violet reached out a hand and placed it gently on top of Sybil's, shocked at the coolness of her skin. "She needs light and fresh air and to be cooed over and admired. This is no way to let her spend her first Christmas…"

"It ought to be with Tom, her first Christmas should be with him."

"And I know we cannot replace him Sybil, I would not dare suggest that, but she still deserves better than this. And so do you. It will never go away completely, the loss, the pain you feel now but it will get better. I am not asking you to forget him Sybil, for I know, despite our reservations, you loved him and he loved you very dearly, more than we can comprehend. But you need to begin to heal. And that will not happened looked away like the princes in the tower." Sybil thought about protesting, but could not find the energy, could not find fault in her grandmother's words. "Now, Anna has come to give you a bath and help you get dressed." Anna and Cora moved into the room, their steps tentative. "And you must come downstairs and eat something, soon it won't be you alone who is suffering if you don't." Violet stroked the baby's cheek, the age of the skin of her hands a stark contrast to the new, plump skin of Lillie's face. "You must think of what is best for her now, at this very moment and doing that will help ease the pain in your heart." Violet used a thumb to brush away the tear that was working its way down Sybil's cheek. "That man loved you a great deal, I saw it, I really believed it the moment I saw him when he thought he was going to lose you, when he was waiting for the baby to come." Sybil's eyes were wide, searching her grandmother's face. "And to receive love like that my dear, even if only for a little while, means it will stay with you for the rest of your life. Now you have to make sure you have one, that you live a life to make the most of that love." The room fell silent for a moment, as they found themselves lost in their thoughts. Violet coughed, pulling herself back into the present. "Now Anna could you open these curtains, the poor mite will think it is perpetually night time. My dear, your mother will take the baby and I will leave you and Anna to it." As Anna rushed to draw the curtains, throwing great bands of light across the whole room Violet rose, leaning heavily on her stick, and turned to make her way out of the room. "I expect to see you downstairs soon, your Aunt Rosamund will be here soon and I'm sure she will be a delight as usual." Her tone was clipped and sharp, back to normality after it's moment of sentimentality.

As Violet made her way out of the room Cora gave Sybil an apologetic look, her mother-in-law had been her last resort – the last of her weaponry, her last hope to pull Sybil out of herself and her pain. And as Anna helped Sybil out of bed and stood her, slightly shakily, upright she was glad of Violet and her particular brand of straight talking. A rare moment of appreciation.


	32. Chapter 32

Chapter 32

Dublin - Early January 1921

Máire Branson received word from the hospital that her husband had been returned by the English forces, dropped off at the hospital in dire need of treatment, thanks to the work of Lord Grantham. Robert Crawley had used his connections to who ever it was that decided such things, to get Joseph Branson released immediately. He had written to Peggy Branson himself in the days after Christmas, saying he would do whatever he could to help them in this time of loss and sadness, they had been so kind and welcoming to his daughter, he felt it was time he showed them some kindness in return.

It was Peggy who was first to see him, Máire confined to her bed by a sickness she had caught off the little ones. The doctor who met her at the door to the hospital looked somber, like the weight of the world was on his tired shoulders. This was a country at war; the poor man was surely rushed off his feet. She was told that so serious was her son's condition, he had been read his last rites twice in the day and a half it had taken them to get the message to her that the authorities had released him to the hospital, finding him innocent of any crime but not without doing some damage first.

"If I'm honest Mrs Branson, he is lucky to be alive," he looked at her seriously over his glasses as they paused at the bottom of the flight of stairs which led up to the wards, "there have been occasions in the last few days I thought it would be lucky if you were able to visit a son with a beating heart and not identifying a corpse. I am sorry to be so frank, but I must prepare you. They have not treated your son kindly." She nodded, mute, unsure now how to prepare herself. She felt lost, here she was a mother with no way of taking away her child's pain, no way of making it all better.

She hated these places, hospitals; the stench of bodily fluids and disinfectant soap and iodine and everything else brought back memories of times she would rather forget. Her Pa, Francis, had died in hospital after an injury on the farm, one bad enough to have him sent to the big hospital in Dublin. The operation meant he lost a leg but they were assured it would save him, but septicemia had got him not long after and she had watched him convulse as the last drops of life seeped from him. She'd been expecting Frankie, the early days, and the smell of the hospital had made her retch. She'd brought the children with her the last time she saw him awake, scrubbed the four of them up and stood them in a row, Joe and Mal and Bridget and her Tommy, all in their Sunday best. Almost as if somehow her subconscious had known they were coming to say their goodbyes, to bid Granda farewell. He'd only been forty-seven. No age to meet such an end. Tommy had adored him and had taken his death badly, he'd been the only one of the boys who would stay still long enough to listen to his Granda talk about the sheep, explain the shearing and the feeding. He and Bridget would follow her Pa around all day, while Joe and Mal got up to mischief somewhere in one of the old barns. How different it was now, those four little children she'd lined up. One dead, one a heartbroken widow, one too affected by the war to act on his own politics, the other, far _too driven_ by his politics to act on anything else, was lying on the edge of death, toeing the line between this life and the next. How different she had hoped it would be for them.

Her boys had tried to keep it secret from her, what Joe was up to again. Tommy had tried his best to protect him and look where it had got him. Robbed of a future with the woman he had fought for, with the baby he loved so fiercely all because Joe couldn't control his temper, couldn't sense when he was in too deep. As soon as he was out of here, as soon as she was well again, she'd give him what for. No age was too great for a boy to be told his wrongdoings by his Ma.

She had been so lost in her thoughts it was only now she realized the doctor had led her along a maze of corridors and stopped outside a closed door – a private room, Peggy thought, it must be bad if they won't even let him be seen by other patients on a ward.

"He's in here Mrs Branson." She looked up at the doctor, her face must have given away her fear for he quieted his tone and spoke again, "Are you sure you are alright, I can give you a few minutes before we go in?"

She shook her head, "No, no use delaying. Better now; get the shock over and done with. Let me see my son."

He pushed open the door and spoke as she took a step in, cautiously crossing the threshold into the room, seeing the nurse stood at the side of the bed. "He seems to be doing better today but he is still dipping in and out of consciousness and seems confused when he does come round. We have the bleeding under control – it is just a matter of treating the wounds and the swelling. With any luck there will be no need for us to intervene too much and little lasting damage as long as the wounds heal and the bones set right."

A figure lay on its back on the bed. He was too thin; she could see his collarbone jut out sharply from beneath his skin and the lines of ribs on his chest. His face was turned slightly away from the door, toward the light that streamed in through the window, an enamel dish next to his cheek. She saw red seeping through the bandages across his abdomen, the stench of blood hung heavily in the room, the tang of iron. She could smell vomit too, barely masked by the sweet smell of carbolic soap.

"Jesus." She crossed herself, almost without noticing, a habit firmly ingrained within her. "Oh Jesus. My poor boy, what have they done to you?" She gently placed a palm on a heavily bandaged arm, still a distance from the bed.

Mrs Branson stared at the man's face, not entirely sure if what she seemed to be seeing was real, or if the injuries, the bruising and cuts across the cheeks and forehead, the swelling of the jaw, the broken nose, had altered the face beyond recognition. She began to shake her head and the doctor took hold of her arm, "That's not Joseph Branson."

A wave of worry went round the room and the doctor began to lead Mrs Branson away, she resisted, still staring at the body lying in the bed. "I'm very sorry Mrs Branson, we were led to believe that this man was your son."

"No, doctor." She took a tentative step toward the bed, removing her hat with shaking fingers. "It is my son, it's my Tommy. My Tommy. Alive."

**You didn't think I'd really do it did you?! Obviously not, some of you guessed right of the bat – I am not as good at writing mistaken identity as you lot are at spotting it! Oh well, a girl can try! I had to restrain myself from putting this upa few hours after putting up the last update, but I thought as I'm not great at updating I should spread it out a wee bit. In my case updates **_**are**_** a bit like buses…but at least I didn't keep you waiting this time! **

**Anyway, let me know your thoughts! Did you see it coming? Do I need to work on my mystique?! Thank you, as always, for taking time out of your day to give this a read! LP. x**


	33. Chapter 33

**A very little 'teaser chapter' taken from the beginning of a much longer C33 (now, I suppose C34) to let you know I haven't forgotten this and to tide you over until I actually get round to finishing it! **

**LP. x**

Chapter 33

TOM FOUND ALIVE BUT INJURED. COME TO DUBLIN ON FIRST AVAILABLE CROSSING. URGENT. BRIDGET.

_ Sybil's hand shook as she read the telegram, Edith stood beside her bed, eyes wide with expectation. It had arrived in the middle of breakfast, addressed to Sybil but handed to Edith by Carson, who had told her in hushed tones, "From Ireland. Urgent apparently." Matthew and Robert had stopped, knives and forks still, the room suddenly silent. _

_ "I best take it to her." Her voice faltered but her eyes shot firmly to her father as she rose to her feet, "She'll be seeing to Lillie – I'll let you know what has happened. But get Mama. She'll need Mama whatever this news is." She had left the room, hurrying up the stairs, treading a well-walked path to Sybil's room. _

_Sybil's hand went to her mouth, dropping the paper on the eiderdown next to the shape of Lillie, cocooned against her mother as she fed, warm despite the icy coolness of the morning. Sybil burst into tears, taking in great gasps of air and alarming Edith. _

_ "Sybil?" She sat cautiously next to her sister on the bed, reaching a hand out to press against Sybil's arm. Sybil looked up at her, eyes glassy with tears, her face caught somewhere between shock and disbelief. A gentle tap came on the door and their mother appeared, not needing invitation, beside Edith. She was still in her nightclothes, shivering slightly against the chill in the room, still in the process of being warmed by the fire. _

"_He's alive." Sybil's voice was choked, catching slightly in her throat and barely above a whisper – as if she worried saying it out loud might jinx it, render it untrue. She swallowed, and looked down at Lillie, studying her face and stroking the little hand that was splayed against her breast. "He's alive." Her voice was louder, more sure and her eyes went to search the faces of her mother and sister, both still processing what she had said, trying to grasp what it all meant. "I have to go to him. I have to go to him now."_


	34. Chapter 34

Chapter 34

_He remembered a time in Dublin, before any of this, before they had returned to Downton when Lillie was still a relative stranger curled in Sybil's womb, that Sybil had worked tirelessly and endlessly scrubbing at every surface in the house. Nesting, his mother had called it with a knowing smile. "And you'd best just leave her to it Tommy, let her get it out of her system. She will only do what she is able." The final straw had been him coming home to find Sybil balanced on a chair, the swell of the baby stretching the fabric of her dress taut, scrubbing at the picture rail. His heart had jumped into his mouth at the sight, he'd told her enough was enough now and they'd fought – her emotions had seemed to rest on a knife edge back then, the tiniest thing could upset her or make her temper snap. It had broken his heart to see her cry so often, knowing there wasn't really anything he could do. It always broke his heart to see him cry. _

_He was aware that he was spending his days drifting in and out of consciousness, the medicine they were giving him kept him in a foggy state of half slumber even when he was awake. Suddenly there would be light shining onto him through the window and he would realise he had slept through the night without even being aware of it, not feeling a natural tiredness take over him. It would be sudden, and it would steamroller him. Sometimes he was lucid enough to know that his mother was there, or Bridget, or occasionally Mal or Frankie. But never Sybil, he wanted her there, needed to feel her hand in his. But he knew he was in a bad way, they didn't drug anyone up like this if it was just a scratch or a fracture limb – this was what they did to people whose bodies needed a lot of rest to heal or who were so broken this was the only way to keep the pain at bay, to keep in bearable. _

_So as much as he wanted her there by his side, to hear her voice again, to feel her touch on his skin, he wasn't quite sure if he could bear to see her cry. To see her shed tears over him like this, to cause her even an ounce more pain. _

* * *

><p>Mal was there to meet them from the dock, he stood in his heavy coat and nervously playing with his hat, rolling the brim against his palm. Sybil saw how somber he looked, how his nerves seemed to be getting the best of him again. His hands shook as her reached out to greet them both, as he stroked Lillie's cheek with his forefinger.<p>

They took a taxi – something Sybil wasn't sure she had ever done in Dublin, a dear extravagance she was sure Mal couldn't really afford – instructions from his mother no doubt – a guest she wanted to impress.

It was cold, but it was bright and there was no snow. She was glad of it – there was enough melancholy about them now, the weather didn't need to contribute. She watched her mother as the streets grew narrower and somewhat shabbier, as they went from the grander houses of central Dublin to the neighbourhoods that surrounded it. Cora's face was unchanging though; she was taking this new place in with interest, smiling when she saw children playing bulldog in the street. Sybil was so glad then it was Cora in the end that won the battle, she would accompany Sybil and Lillie, not Robert. She, it was decided would be of more use, she could help Sybil sort the house and care for Lillie. There was also the underlying implication that Cora would be more tactful, come across less judgmental, than her father. She would adapt to the new city and accept the way of life her daughter had come to know far better initially than Robert, and with that so, eventually would he.

As they turned down onto the Bransons' street Sybil reached out and squeezed her mother's hand, "Thank you, Mama. Thank you for everything."

"Oh my darling, my baby. How could I do anything else? You are all three very welcome – but you've nothing to thank me for." Cora smiled her response and tucked some of her daughter's hair behind her ear. The taxi stopped and the jolt drew her attention to the row of terraced house outside, the proudly swept doorsteps, the brightly painted front doors, the lace curtains in the front parlour windows. "Oh this looks so lovely Sybil, what a beautiful street."

And with that she stepped out of the taxi with Mal's help, leaving her daughter marveling at how unfazed she was. Thank God for Mama, Sybil thought, thank God for her.

Sybil stood on Mrs Branson's doorstep, remembering the occasion all those months ago she stood in the same spot with Tom by her side, nervously hoping for the approval of his mother. Now she had Lillie in her arms, wrapped in blankets and half inside Sybil's coat, her head covered in a little woolen bonnet, her cheek resting against Sybil's shoulder, eyelids firmly closed, overcome with tiredness. Cora stood against her, a gloved hand on the small of Sybil's back. Mal stood behind them, their bags at his feet.

The door stuck slightly as it was opened, warped by the winter. Mrs Branson appeared behind it, slightly flushed and with a fussing Michael around her skirts.

"Oh Sybil, dear." She pulled her into an embrace, the door still wide open, wind whipping into the hallway. "Oh my dear, dear girl." Sybil felt reassured by Peggy's warmth, her smell, and the lilt of her voice. So familiar now, having been so foreign to her for so long.

Peggy pulled away and held her daughter-in-law at arm's length, studying her face. She looked tired, there were dark smudges under her eyes and her face was thinner. She looked exactly as Peggy felt; drawn and exhausted by it all, by the emotions, not wanting to relax into relief too soon. Not wanting to tempt fate. Her eyes fell then to the bundle Sybil was holding to her chest, the hand clasped into a tiny fist that had escaped the layers surrounding it. She reached out and stroked the back of the little hand with her thumb, felt Sybil watching her and flashed her a smile. She saw Cora then, who was watching the interaction between her daughter and Peggy with a kind, fond smile on her face.

"Lady Grantham, how lovely to finally meet you." Peggy reached out a hand and clasped one of Cora's in her own, their eyes connected and wordless thanks crossed between the two.

"Cora, please, call me Cora. We are family after all." A warm smile came to Cora's face and she took in the woman stood before her. The woman who had just embraced Sybil like one of her own, a woman who despite the differences in their lives she could see wasn't that different to herself.

"Cora." Peggy paused, liking the way the name sounded, the way the syllables felt on the tongue. "In which case I am Peggy. Come in, come in. Through to the kitchen to get warm by the stove. I'll put the kettle on." She bent to pick up Michael, to move him out of the way and led the way down the hallway to the kitchen. "Don't mind my grandson, he's getting over a cold and is a little out of sorts. Malachy will pop your bags inside, just follow me through here."

Mal did his duty, tucking the bags neatly inside the front parlour and shutting the door behind him, glad to be out of the cold at last. The temperature had risen slightly through the day, it was less biting, a sure sign of snow that evening. An unwelcome prospect when the snowfall that they woke to on Christmas Eve had only just thawed. He looked up to see Meg sat on the top step, half hidden in darkness, watching the front door. He beckoned his youngest sister down the stairs and she startled, ashamed to be caught spying.

"If you are going to gawp you may as well come and say hello." He ruffled her hair and received a scowl in response, "She's no different to us, seems quite nice, just in fancier clothes. And you just know Ma is going to put on quite the performance, to bend over backwards now there is a countess in the house."

They slipped quietly into the room, where their mother was filling the kettle, Michael wedged on her hip, whining into her shoulder. She had settled Cora and Sybil into the armchairs nearest the stove, placed there in winter to make maximum use of the heat it kicked out. She had laid their coats carefully on the backs of the chairs, tucked the sleeves in and smoothed the fabric so it would leave no creases. Cora sat looking around the kitchen, taking it all in.

"Ah, Meg." Peggy glanced over at them as she turned to lift the kettle onto the stove. "Cora this is my youngest, Margaret. I wondered where you'd got to Meg, come and say hello to our guest and Sybil." She beckoned Meg over and instigated the greeting, Cora was warm with her response, asking Meg how old she was and how her day had been so far. "And Mal, go and get the good tea pot down from the shelf in the parlour, we'll treat ourselves today." She turned back to Cora, "We'd be in there today but it's icy cold, haven't been able to get the sweep out to the chimney and I daren't light the fire. Wouldn't want soot ruining your lovely clothes, so I am sorry to say we'll have to have tea in my kitchen. I wouldn't think of it normally, how improper - having a guest to tea and sitting them in here…"

Mal sighed and raised his eyebrows at Meg, when had their mother of all people worried about 'what was proper.' He turned to leave the room, following his mother's orders, knowing it was the easiest path to a peaceful life.

"No, no. Don't apologise. It is lovely in here, warm and comfortable. I've spent a lifetime sat in parlours and drawing rooms and I can say I would much rather be right here." Sybil looked at her mother, thanking her with a timid smile. "And it is so lovely to meet everyone. Finally put faces to the names I have heard so much about." She rose, brushing down her skirt, "But I insist Peggy, I will make the tea you settle down in that chair and meet your newest granddaughter." She looked around for Meg, "I am sure Meg will help me find everything."

"Oh really, I cannot put a guest to work in my own kitchen-"

Cora interrupted her, holding up her hand, "No, no. I insist – it is about time you get to say hello."

Peggy looked at her unsure, obviously torn. She eventually nodded and passed Michael over to Meg. He sniffed but settled against his aunt, his thumb stuck in his mouth. Cora busied herself, asking Meg where everything was kept, talking to Michael; she seemed to be trying a little too hard to give the two women some sort of time alone. "I must say I have been waiting for this since Tommy wrote to me all those months ago," She backed into the armchair opposite Sybil, "You were ill then, Tommy sounded frantic – he didn't know what to do to help, he didn't like to see you in pain." She paused, thoughtful, realizing the relevance to their situation now. She looked up at Sybil, who had got to her feet ready to pass the baby over, "We will go after lunch to see him, Bridget is there now, she's seeing to it that he is getting on alright." Sybil nodded her thanks and lay the bundle of blankets into Peggy's arms. Peggy gasped slightly as she looked down into the baby's face and relaxed against the back of the chair. She gently pushed back Lillie's bonnet to reveal more of her features, "My gosh, she is so like Tommy. So like Tommy." She stroked the little girl's cheek with a finger and watched as the baby stirred slightly, moving in her cocoon before falling back into her slumber. "She is beautiful Sybil, truly she is, a real little beauty." She glanced up at Sybil and saw the pride in her face. "Of course he said she was, but now I see it for myself. And she's got your lovely hair, look at it, falling into curls already."

"Her eyes are like his. Exactly like his. And yours too, very much like yours." Sybil watched intently as her mother in law cooed over the baby, her own mother pottering around in the background with Meg. She was glad of them both, seemingly so different but both with the same care, the same heart. And despite it all, right then she realized just how lucky she was.

* * *

><p>She'd seen men like this before, of course, she had seen men in far worse states than this – with limbs missing and the life gone from their face, despite their beating hearts. But those men hadn't been hers; hadn't been the man she had vowed to spend her life with, the man she shared her bed with, her husband, the father of her child. The man who, until a matter of days ago she had mourned, not knowing how to begin facing a future without him. She fell to her knees at his bedside, his hand clasped in hers and began to sob, tears falling onto his blankets looking into the sleeping face, so familiar and so changed all at once.<p>

**I'm sorry this took me such a long while to get done - I lost my mojo a bit with it but was inspired to get to it again a few days ago. I cannot believe this story is now over a year old - it doesn't seem that long! It has been a wonderful year, finally having someone reading some of what I write. Thank you to all those who have been reading since the beginning and to those who found me somewhere along the way. Here's to another year like this one!  
>Let me know what you think, as I always, I adore to hear people's thoughts and to know they are still reading! Thank you for all of your kind words so far. <strong>

**LP. x**


	35. Chapter 35

**Thank you to anyone reading this for your patience with this story and me, and mainly my general lack of updates! I'm very sorry, I'm trying to get back on track but life has been crazy for me since Christmas – am hoping for a calmer month or two now, with a bit more writing getting done! **

**I hope you enjoy a bit of a gentle return from me, and just a short chapter today! **

**Thank you for reading. **

**LP. X**

Chapter 35

She dreamt of him that first night back, curled up in their bed with Lillie tucked against her and her mother in the bed in the next room. The images of him in the bed in the hospital, his face distorted and swollen almost beyond recognition, neither fully conscious nor in the comforts of sleep, in a kind of fitful limbo no doubt induced by morphine, danced before her eyes. Prevented sleep from taking her.

Finally though, exhaustion won. And she fell into a sleep so deep, her dreams were deceptively real. She dreamt of being with him. The way it had been in the first weeks of their first autumn as husband and wife, before the exhausting months of early pregnancy but after the pain of their initial exploits had passed. When both were beginning to learn a little of what the other liked. A kiss here, a stroke there, a gentle whisper in an ear. They knew each other by then, one another's bodies as familiar as their own. The weekends had been the best, they would half wake of a morning, movements in sleep having separated them, and somehow be drawn back to one another. And after a little while, both still somewhat cosseted by sleep, he would slip her nightdress up to her waist and roll so he was resting between her legs, placing gentle, lazy kisses on the contours of her face. He was warm and soft and in those moments she couldn't imagine anything worse than letting him go, slipping out into their cold surroundings and beginning their respective days, feeling as if they had been wrenched from sleep.

No light would seep through the curtains, the outside world still cloaked in early morning darkness, and it would be touch and sound that aided them in their love making, sight entirely removed. He would push gently into her, giving her body time to react, her legs drawing up either side of him, the rest of them still languid as they found a rhythm together. He listened out for her breathing to heighten, become quiet, breathy sighs of contentment. Both of them would wonder how on earth life had ever seemed complete without moments like this. Without one another.

He would bury his face in her hair, spread across the pillow like great billowing flames, as his own body began to give in to the pleasure that the feel of her wrapped around him gave. She would kiss his neck as his body first tensed and then relaxed into hers, his limbs seeming leaden in a pleasant warming way. And they would lie together, entwined with bare skin touching, as the first light of the day filled the room, tinted blue by the curtains.

She woke suddenly, expecting to be in his arms, the smell of him comforting her, the feel of one of his hands resting on her breast. Instead she found herself alone, but for a mewing infant, hungry for milk and attention. The room was cold; the grate needed clearing, and wood and coal collecting for the fire. Sybil shifted in the bed, the space beside her feeling unnaturally empty and cold. She pulled the eiderdown around herself and Lillie, unbuttoned her nightdress and put the infant to her breast, watching her little starfish hands clasp themselves around the cotton of her bed jacket. The reality of the situation, the strain of the last weeks came flooding around her, the realization that she was now so removed from those easy, languid Saturday mornings, and she began to sob. Great wet tears falling onto the shawl that swaddled their daughter, the baby no doubt a result of one of those blissful early morning hours spent basking in one another's company and warmth.

He was alive; she needn't mourn his life any more. But she couldn't help but be afraid that once he was well again, they would both be changed, unable to return to those carefree days once more. Without him in the early hours in that bed, right at that moment, she wasn't sure she had ever felt so unbearably alone.


	36. Chapter 36

Chapter 36 – 31st December 1920

Cora had watched her daughter slip toward sleep. Had watched the furrowed brow, now a near constant feature of Sybil's face, be ironed out and disappear. She had always thought it amazing how sleep brought back a child's face in anyone and sat there, on a chair next to her daughter's marital bed, it was as if she in the days of nursing her youngest child out of a childhood illness. Her lips puckered ever so slightly, just as they always had done. One hand was pressed against her chin, just as Sybil had slept as a baby, thumb resting against her cheek. How they had battled, when Sybil was a little girl, to stop her sucking her thumb, her fingers. Only that thumb gave her away as having not quite conquered it, that thumb in the comfort of her bed.

Lillie was bundled in her grandmother's arms; Cora could feel her breath on the skin at her collarbone, the baby's head resting against her chest, cheeks brushing the trim of her nightgown collar. They were both wrapped in Cora's bed jacket and a blanket, in the wooden rocker Tom had bought Sybil when the pregnancy started to show, Sybil had imagined she would sit and nurse the baby in that chair – long nights gazing down at the little being they had made together. She'd not been able to even sit in it since their return to Dublin; it seemed a betrayal of that memory. Cora had slept in that chair every night of the last week, needing to watch over her daughter, to see that she was getting some rest. Sybil's insistent nursing of her husband brought about fitful periods of sleep and nightmares that dragged her into consciousness, sobbing hysterically. If the hospital would let her be there at night she would be, but they turned her away every evening at 6pm. She'd told Cora that she feared the most what would happen overnight, while she was away, warm in her bed. That every evening when she put on her coat and kissed Tom's bandaged brow, she feared she would never see him taking breath again.

He was still very ill, still required a level of morphine that prevented him from being fully lucid. His ribs were beginning to knit together; the swelling in his face beginning to reduce; his bruises were now yellowish green, no longer red and purple. They had established the bleeding from his left ear was due to a burst eardrum, as far as they could tell his head injuries were nothing more than superficial. He was healing from what they could see, but his silence and stillness haunted Sybil.

The bells at the church began to chime; Cora was comforted by the familiar rhythm of it, the constant quarter hourly chiming of the clock that somehow enabled you to keep track of the progression of the day without really being aware of it. The melody repeated itself four times then the hours began to sound. She pressed her lips to the downy hair on top of her granddaughter's head, quietly counting. Twelve. It was midnight.

"Happy New Year my darling girl," the baby shifted slightly against her, a hand coming out of her blankets and pressing against Cora's skin. She leaned forward, taking Sybil's hand in her own, "And to you, my sweetheart, my sweet baby. Happy New Year."

Cora prayed that this year would give her youngest child some time to breathe, some respite from the relentlessness of the last year. That it would bring her husband's health, a chance to rest, to enjoy one another again. To watch their daughter grow; she knew that in a years time they would all feel that they had blinked and missed it – Lillie's babyhood, the change in babies being so quick and somehow simultaneously gradual, happening right under your nose and garnering little attention, until one day it hits you, square in the face and takes your breath away. That the little creature that was once so tiny and new to life, has transformed into a little personality, that chatters and toddles about and gets into everything. Cora leaned back in her chair, settling against her cushion and cocoon of blankets and allowed the memories of her own girls, their singing and dancing, the tantrums and bickering, their laughing and the squeals as the ran through the grounds in the summer, to lead her toward sleep.

**Something of a short, 'nothing really happens' chapter, but it's been such a horrendously long time since I updated this (I just checked, 3 and a half months! It's worse than I thought!) I needed to refamiliarise myself with writing everyone, with what was going on, give myself an anchor in a timeline. So this was something of a self-indulgence, but I thought I would share Cora's new year with you anyway. If you read this, you deserve a medal for sticking with me as such an absentee! Thank you so much for reading. Love, LP. x**


End file.
